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ambiguous-avery · 3 months ago

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Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before.

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either.

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics.

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.”

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder.

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful.

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew.

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case.

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated,

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow.

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it.

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

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bettystonewell · 3 months ago

Text

Sam Winchester x Reader - PERFECT

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Sam is ever the gentleman, and Dean is, well, Dean. Having had enough of watching him lead yet another woman on, leaves Sam with no choice, but to leave. But a chance encounter in the most unlikely of places leads to Sam getting his sock on the motel door first.

18+ only MDNI 7.5k words (SAM POV)

Tags: smut, oral - male and female recieving, language, Sam’s POV, pining, dirty talk, an unconventional meet-cute

A/N: Guys! It’s my very first Sam centric fic, and it turned smutty! This is all thanks to a prompt exchange with the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth. You can find her Donna x reader fic HERE. I was given the prompt: Third Wheeling, and the phrase, “You do not want to go in there, believe me,” which is in bold. - Beth ❤️

“Being on the road can be so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dean says, taking Kristy’s hand and gliding his thumb over her smooth skin. She’s hot and way out of his league, and Sam just knows he’s already forgotten her name.

He rolls his eyes. Again. Another town, another bar. Another conquest that will keep him out of a nice warm bed.

He gets it, he does, but he was looking forward to stretching his legs out tonight. They’re stiff and his back still aches from the salt and burn they did the night before and the driving they’ve been doing all day.

Milroy to Muncie. Dean isn’t travelling the world like he just told her. What would a seasoned pilot even be doing in a place like this?

There’s a tidal pool of liquor right in front of him, lapping at the elbows of his jacket with every fresh drink poured. But hey, there are peanuts. The shells are swimming in the swill, and that suits him fine. The smell of smoke and tobacco, cheap cologne mixed with sweat and… urinal cakes… it’s nothing to bitch about. They could use a load off.

It’s just having to hear Dean swindle his way into her panties. Only took two beers and a double bacon cheeseburger.

Sam takes another swig of his beer. Lets the bitterness cool his throat and his hands. It settles in his stomach that’s twisted itself into knots. Kristy was perfect until she started talking to Dean.

He’s got a shoulder blocking his peripheral now, but raising his chin and leaning further into the wave of booze on the counter gives Sam the right angle. He sees the rise of her chest as it dips into her tank top. Makes his lip curl over the lip of his bottle and his cheeks flush. A little.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Dean says with a husk to his voice.

Kristy giggles. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for you’re so beautiful. I learnt that on my last visit.”

It’s not. Sam might not speak the language, but he knows enough to know that line is from Fist of the North Star and Dean butchered it. Pretty sure he told her she was going to die, actually, but whatever. He shakes his head. None of his business if she falls for it - she does - and he can either stay here and further torment himself, or do something about it.

He chugs down the rest of his beer and drops it in the potent ocean. His elbows just miss the riptide. “Bathroom.” He shoots the word Dean’s way, but he gets no response.

“Yeah, I climbed Fuji last time I was there. It’s beautiful in the winter. The snow up there makes the whole mountain look like you’re walking in the clouds.”

Right. Though Sam would love to see him try. He might not have his brother in full afterwards, but he could live on if Dean became subjected to Darwinism.

He stands and searches the place for the John. Of course it’s in the back.

His eyes sweep over Kristy as he passes her, keeping them well away from Dean’s. His hand is covering the dip of her lower spine now, and that’s enough.

Between the pool tables and over more spilled booze that catches the soles of his sneakers as he crosses the room; he makes it to the little darkened crook behind the jukebox where some guy is marking a trail over the neck of a woman twice his age. He has to tap him on the shoulder or squeeze past and bump uglies with them, but no problem, sweet urinal cakes are within his grasp.

He reaches for the handle, tugs, and is about to step inside when a face plants into his chest.

“Sorry,” you say, and look up. Your eyes would be apologetic if it weren’t for the grin that’s stretching your cheeks. “You do not wanna go in there, believe me.”

He doesn’t want to — “What?”

He checks the plaque on the door to make sure that he is indeed trying to enter the men’s room, and he is. “Ahhh,” he chuckles. His voice is higher, and he’s blinking like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?”

“Oh. No.” Your hand is at your mouth and it’s grown even wider.

Your giggling is much more pleasant than Kristy’s, but he doesn’t see what’s so funny. A band of warmth spreads across his nose, but his stomach is doing flips now and not the good kind.

This place is gross enough. What could someone like you possibly do in there? You’re so…little. Well, anyone compared to him is, but you seem sober and put together.

Your makeup has no smudges. No smell of puke or anything else. Your hair is neat, and while those jeans are rather snug, you’ve got some nice tits. They’re not falling out and you’re not stumbling all over the place. You are looking more sheepish by the second, though.

“No, no. I, ah.” You shake your head. Your legs are crossing together. “Uh-uh. Someone’s dropped a load off in there and the ladies aren’t much better. Can I—” Your hands clasp and fingers intertwine; your arms are now slithering like two snakes between his side and the doorframe. “I really gotta go. Excuse me!”

And with that, you take off through the gap made by the couple and the booze puddles on the floor. You’re scooting between the pool tables, then past Dean and Kristy, honing in on a door at the end of the bar he never noticed before. A gust of air pulls it shut behind you.

Okay. Weird.

Sam shakes his head. He’s about to walk on through to the sink he spots on the wall when his nose picks up on whatever it was you were talking about and, yeah, he doesn’t want to know. Whomever did that needs their insides checked, if they haven’t died already?

He turns on his heels and considers his options. He’s seen and smelled worse, but he’s not desperate yet. The beer is still sitting atop the knots that had unraveled, and though the stench has tightened them back into place, they won’t hold forever.

Maybe if he walks home to the motel they checked into earlier, he can make it before things get dire? He should beat Dean before he drops a sock on the door that way.

So, with a glance towards his older brother, whose fingers have slipped under Kristy’s waistband, his decision made, and Sam beelines for the main entrance, stepping out into the night air.

The chill cuts the back of his hands and he shoves them straight into his pockets, bringing his elbows in tight on account of the wind. It dares to tackle him over, but he leans forward and braces himself down the path and past the alley that tucks into the side of the bar.

For the second time that night, you barrel into him. The coincidence, the irony, the annoyance tightens his stance until he realises it’s you and his brow quirks. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”

Your face planted into his arm, above the junction his elbow makes. It fits nicely. A strand of your hair catches on the stitching of his jacket. Probably got some beer on your chin. Serves you right.

“Excuse me,” you snap, but that grin still spreads over when you look up and your eyes recognise you’ve bumped into him. “Oh.” Your eyelashes bat against your cheek. “Well, you gotta stop getting in my way.”

And as you had done only a minute ago, you turn to take off again. Only Sam is quicker. More alert. His hand grabs your wrist before you get too far and holds on tight. “Where are you going?” he says, considering how your hips and legs squirm. The motel is only two blocks and he’ll be the gentleman if he has to be. He isn’t Dean.

“Look dude, I gotta pee, and that alley ain’t going to cut it, so unless you want me to—”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “I’m staying down the road, so before you threaten to piss yourself, you’re welcome to use the one in my room.”

You bite your lip and shrug as you stare him up and down. He’s not a serial killer, but he can understand the skepticism after all he’s seen.

You nod your head. “I was gonna aim for your shoes,” you say. “But okay.”

And there’s Sam, blinking once more. His eyes are getting quite the workout tonight. His scoff teed with a snicker this time. The dimples in his cheeks are pulling his chin to new heights and his other hand is leaving its pocket, outstretching in front of him to lead the way.

“Okay then,” he says, and now you’re both walking.

The room isn’t much. The usual twin beds, table and chairs, a couch Sam refuses to sit on. You’ve only been here a second and you’ll only be here a minute or two more, but it’s imperative he cleans up any evidence of their less-than-normal lives while you’re occupied.

The second the door clicks and the light filters through the threads of carpet caught on the frayed timber, he’s zipping up duffles and tucking the nose of Dean’s shotgun out of sight.

There’s a salt round by the fridge, an empty bottle of Jim next to it, and Dean’s underwear draped over the chair. He picks that up with the machete, thanks his lucky stars you didn’t see that or the rest of it, then sits on the end of his bed.

No, he stands.

No, he sits and leans on his legs. His thumbs twiddle, his eyes scan the doors. And now he’s standing up again as the handle jostles and you appear with a smile that’s oozing relief. He relaxes just a little.

“All good?” he asks. What the hell was he thinking? Not like you battled a vamp in there. But then you’re tilting your head and your palms are smoothing your sides as you consider his question, and ‘Please don’t think I’m a creep,’ he prays.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you say. You’re less animated now. You’re chill, calm, collected. Even more put together than before, but just as Sam feared you might, you take in your surroundings, checking out the details of the room.

He’s luckier still.

“Can I, ah, take you back to the bar?”

It’s not suss, right? He’s just being friendly, not kicking you out or hiding something, but it’s not the way you take it.

“You want me gone?” Your chin recedes into your neck.

Shit. “No, I—”

“Relax.” You chuckle and step over to pat him on the shoulder. The same side you ran into on the street. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping a stranger in need,” you add as you move to the door. “I’ll see you around, unless walking me back to the bar includes buying me a drink?”

“There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam didn’t even think. Well. He did, just not with his head.

It’s Dean’s stash in case he doesn’t pickup, but you’re here, and he’s there. Even if nothing comes from this, he doesn’t need to know it’s all a fallacy. Sam’ll take it as a win, and he waits for your response.

He’s down to beg. He throws that look that always works and your lips spread into a smile.

“Alright.” You nod. Don’t even question why there’s beer when you just met at a bar, and the next thing he knows, you’re pulling up a chair, and so is he. His back, leaning against Dean’s former underwear drawer, clinking his and your cold one together.

“So, passing through, huh?” you ask between swigs.

There’s a spark of interest in your eyes, but all he can do is say, “Yeah.” He’d much rather talk about you. Your life is normal. You seem normal. If accepting to use a stranger’s motel bathroom and then staying for a drink makes you so.

You did threaten to pee on him.

“Staying long?”

“Depends on my brother.”

You’d taken another mouthful and the lip of the bottle catches on yours as you say, “Your brother?”

There’s a drop of beer dripping down your chin, and he’s drawn to it. Tongue darts out before hiding it behind his own drink. “Yeah,” he repeats and you’re nodding more. Only it’s slow. It’s understanding.

Your gaze travels the room again as you think what to say, passing the two beds and the duffles he threw on the floor. “So, road trip? Heading to or from college?”

“College?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. You seem young enough. You got that head in a book kind of look.” Your fingers trace the bottleneck and swipe at the condensation. “I dunno? I’m making shit up while I try to work out who you are besides Sam, the guy who saved me from peeing my pants. You’re not exactly giving me much.”

And you’re not giving him a chance. “What about you? What’re you twenty-four?”

“Three. You?”

He nods. He’s twenty-five, but you don’t need to know that. It’s been over two years since he got dragged back into hunting. Since he lost Jess. Maddison, too, not that it’s the same.

“So what’s your story?” he says.

“Besides trying to use the men’s room and the alley?”

It’s not just a chuckle this time, he’s wholeheartedly laughing. It bellows round the room, ricocheting off the walls and doors. That smile of yours is wicked, and the straight-laced tone that delivered it was just right. His stomach has unwound, and his head is feeling light thanks to your shoe brushing his leg below the table.

Maybe there’s no need for lies. Sometimes all it takes is a gentleman’s kindness. A tall stature and an air of mystery.

“Besides that,” he says, and you’re considering him again. Your stare has him staring back.

You’re pretty. More than you are put together. Your hair sits just right, your hands delicate. They’d look good in his, and even better wrapped around any part of him.

Which means he’s got to up his game. You’re already here and the way you look at him clues him in that you might be interested. He just has to reel you in. So, “You gotta boyfriend, or living with your folks?” he adds. He shouldn’t have started with your relationship status, but your smile’s just growing bigger and bigger.

“Boyfriend, huh? At least I asked what you did first.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Do you wanna know if there is one?” you tease, then you’re laughing along with him.

There’s no guy. Your shoe is off and your socked foot is now stretched across the table; resting close to his crotch.

You’re not shy. You’re not dumb, either. “Why do you think I stayed?”

You lean forward. Your toes shift, too, creeping closer and closer to not so little Sam, who twitches with interest. “Cute stranger, staying at the local motel. We don’t get a lot of those ‘round here, and I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow. If you’re interested.”

It’s like he’s channeling his inner-Dean or something. You may as well be in his lap. Sure, your foot is, but women his age never fawn over him, at least he never notices until it’s too late. It took days for Jess flirting after Brady introduced her for him to make his move.

He was in Maddison’s living room and that took Dean’s interference. The weird, and albeit extremely obvious kind, but here with you, what you’re suggesting is plain as day.

“I, ah.” You’re looking at him still. Your big toe is scraping right up against the seam of his pants now. If it weren’t for the fabric covering the family jewels, your nail would be right up in theirs.

Shit.

His knee hits the table. His beer travels down the wrong pipe. He chokes when the cool liquid slides further and the bubbles lick the walls. Meanwhile, your foot just gets in there more. Big toe, seeking the form of his growing boner.

Your smile is infectious. You think making a grown man squirm is hilarious, apparently. He’d let you do it again and again. “You wanna?” he says between splutters.

Idiot. Does he really have to ask?

It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are constricting, let alone think. But you’re there, and he’s there, and he’s so fucking down, it’s no longer funny.

He stands. Crunches his chair across the crunchier carpet as your chin shoots up. Eyes following to what would be the perfect angle if you were closer and below his feet.

“I do,” you say, and your lips are plump, glistening. They’re wide and they pillow under your front teeth, daring him to capture them.

He does.

His arm sneaks around your waist, and he pulls you to stand. His hand plants firm on your side. Fingers scrunch up your shirt, but no matter, yours are riding up under his, and fuck, no, no, he doesn’t fucking care.

His gut is doing flips. Those knots are loose, but his chest is tight. Blood rushes to both heads and both heads ground against different parts of you.

“Sam.” Your kiss stops mid nip. Your hands have since moved to his buckle, but your eyes are on him when he looks past his nose and mouth. He’d kiss you more. Only his attention has turned to what your fingers are doing with his belt and how your arms glide it out in one flick, then go straight back to the fly. “You packing?”

Packing? He stands there, stunned. His pants clearly are. Your fingers just brushed the tip.

“Condom,” you say, and the colour in your irises flicker.

“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Mm—You—You don’t waste time, huh?”

“Haven’t had enough, not too.” You double over in a manner he’d say otherwise. “And you mentioned something ‘bout a brother?”

“Dean?” His cheeks are rising again. But they’re doing so because his eyes are squinting with disgust. You’re still grinning up at him though, and your palm is teasing his dick through its confines.

You grip and press into him, moulding out the shape under his jeans and he shakes that thought away.

You want him. Your lashes are fluttering and your lips are twitching into a sultry smirk because he’s under your ministration and you’re ready to go with him, just as much as he is with you.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and he takes a step back, hand still on your waist to toe a shoe off.

He’s not that coordinated with the sock, however, and he soon bends over to retrieve the house-elf’s bounty. He flashes it in triumph in front of your quirked brow, but you’re soon grinning with him.

There’s a fit of laughter that hits his ears again and footsteps stalking him as he glides to the door and covers the outside handle, just as Dean would do.

He shuts it, turns around and your hands grab and pull him back to you. Your right is back at the button and your left is sliding on in, tickling skin teasing through the copse of tiny curls before any kiss picks back up.

You swallow his moan. Taste the trepidation on his tongue as your skin touches his velvety head.

Nope. Not shy. You know what you want, and Sam is more than happy to let you take it if you keep touching him like that, but he’s not dumb. He also knows what he wants, and it’s only fair he gets his turn, too. You’re here. He’s here. He wants to last. No, needs to. Being on the road with Dean so often means he gets little time to, well, take his time.

He’s pent up. Motel showers aren’t the best when he has to keep quiet and slow his hands so the faps don’t reach his brother’s waiting jaunts. He could blow his load right now with not much more effort from you, but he’s not going to. Not until after he savours you first.

It’s been way too long since he felt sweet curves or tasted the sweat of another’s skin. The bitter beer mixed with a fruity gloss is doing wonders already, but he craves more.

Just like the footpath, his hand grabs your wrist and its twin, and he leads you backward until your knees hit Dean’s bed and you flail. Your arms pull from him and push down into the bedding, then you drag yourself up to the pillows where you rest your head against the wooden board.

Your finger tells him to come hither, your hand pats the space at your side. Sam takes off his shirt.

His gut is doing flips again. More so when your eyes trail up over every inch of his chiseled chest. Behind it, his heartbeat is fast. It could jump right out of there. Only the lump in his throat is huge.

You’ve slipped off your shirt, too. Your fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra. You slide the straps down and hold it in the air before you fling it at his feet and giggle again.

“What’re you waiting for?” you say and it goes straight to his pants. The outline of his dick throbs against the denim.

He swallows. “Just, ah, admiring the show.”

You grin. A little sigh escapes your lips as you look down at yourself. Your fingers swirl over your heaving skin. They dip into the valley between your breasts, but never move further than the tan line that divides the top half from the fuller one. “It’s more fun if you’re touching me, too.”

Ho-kay. This is really happening. And Sam’s now diving for Dean’s duffle. He’s careful not to reveal the contents, but it’s hard not to when he’s just as and everything’s dumped on top. The little box of Trojans is right under the weight of the sawn-off and the sharp blade of a machete almost cuts him.

Man, it’s lucky you’re occupied.

Sam turns around, and that’s an understatement. You’re inching down your jeans. They’re flung off, and he’s doing the same. Hopping, skipping, and jumping, he yanks the string of plastic foils out and trails them along behind him.

They splay out over the covers while you splay under him; and he’s dipping down to taste. There’s salt and a light scent of citrus teed with something sweeter flooding his nostrils as your fingers curl into his hair. His occupied with the way your left tit fits below them. He squeezes and draws his mouth over the other. Pops your nipple in and sucks.

“Took you long enough,” you coo, and he just chuckles, haughty, deep.

“And I’m gonna take longer,” he says between nips and swipes of a thick, flat tongue. One that glides perfectly ‘round the round, hardening bud. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

He presses firm, draws your taut skin into his teeth. He’s determined to leave marks because something’s snapped within. Where the hell that last line came from, he’s got no idea, but it’s as if he’s an animal turned feral.

A wolf in its den? A lion devouring its prey? Does it matter when his hips are gyrating against your lace?

Your panties are staining his boxers, and his boxers strain against them, staining them right back.

“Fuck,” you moan.

He groans, and then your hands are pressing against his head.

He can take a hint. He’s smart. He won’t tell you your upper thighs were his mouth’s goal all along. Too busy concentrating as he scoots down, ‘cause he can’t fuck this up. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he says on the outside. God. Who the hell is he? “Want me to taste you?”

“Sam,” you moan again. “Gonna get me off with that tongue of yours, baby?”

And damn. His name is so much better when you say it, when your legs are spreading further open for him. His fingers are slipping under the edge of the lace, feeling the first slither of just how wet you really are.

His lips press against your clothed entrance and the damp fabric gives way. He’s certain his nose has just tapped into your clit and you smell divine. Sour, earthy. On the verge of something sweet.

He darts his tongue back out to taste, and your fingers are tugging this time. Your nails scrape his scalp and your back arches off the bed, pushing your hot, hot heat against him.

“You gonna tease me all day, Samuel?” you say, and he’s not mad. That scolding tone is working wonders. His amusement bursts through his nose.

Down below though, a bead of pre-cum dribbles from little Sam, flexing with a life of its own. He can’t deny his balls are tight, stomach hotter than you are. It’s still flipping, and his toes stretch and recoil in extension.

“No, ma’m.” The sooner he can get you to cum, the sooner he’ll be comfortable sinking into you. What he lacks in confidence he makes up for in size, and it’s something he’s proud of.

He unfurls your panties. Glides them down with your eager help. Without warning, his lips return to their former position, parting yours around him. He presses hard, spreads his mouth open wide and licks while his fingers dip where he’s too afraid to reach.

You’re still a stranger he knows nothing about besides no boyfriend and you’re willing to have this one-night stand with him. But he’s smart, remember? He doesn’t want to catch anything. Even if you’re well put together and squirming into his palm, he just met you, urinal adjacent.

“Oh, shit.” Your back arches again. Your pants reach his ear. His fingers curl and stroke your constricting walls, wet catching in his nail-beds. Your body trembles, bringing a new meaning to thundering thighs.

They quiver, they shake. He gets a calve to his chin as you raise it up and stretch it out. There’s a risk his head will get a good clamping, but he continues to strike with the pebbled tip of his tongue.

His lips pull together and he pulls away with a smack, putting on a show for you with a swipe over the bow. His eyes find yours, lust blown, heavy lidded. Your mouth parts and begs a, “Please.”

And Sam’s diving right back in with a smirk. Kisses with force against your clit. Thrums his fingers inside, hard and fast. His wrist is getting a workout. His thumb aches as it’s pushed to the side. But he slips in a third finger, flicks the shelf of your pubic bone. Holds your stomach down as you buck and shake.

“Oh, god,” you cry. His name comes out in a hoarse scream. You yank at his hair as you gush over his hand and chin. Your legs do everything in their power to crush him, but he doesn’t let up.

His fingers continue to make you writhe and your arms wriggle and bend. Only now, his kisses move and spread your juices over you.

The crease in your thighs and the soft flesh covering your hips. Over your stomach, delving into your navel, he trails up your body, back to your breasts, and soon you’re wet inside and out, and he grins big and toothy. Cheeks up high again as he waits for you to come down from yours.

He drops to his side. Props himself on his elbow. Hand runs through his hair, already laced with sweat. “That good, huh?” he asks.

And if he’s honest, he needs to know. He’s still working you, only now his fingers tap at your opening. Slipping through your folds with a sound so slick, Dean would say it’s music. A newfound confidence comes from the belief you’re outta breath because of him.

Your laugh fills with air, like how a cartoon dog might snicker, chest rising against his own. Your nipple scrapes over his skin as he leans down and kisses you proper. Answer, stolen, before it can even form.

Salt and fruity gloss - cherry? No, strawberry. Why the hell does he care? The flavours swirl together. Bodies press together when you hitch your leg over his and pull him closer. Your sweet heat now flush against him, hammers his heart and forces his grip on you to tighten.

He squeezes your ass. It’s plump. It’s firm. Your jeans hid just how perfect and round it was. Just the right size for him to hold.

But you’ve got your sights set on your own grip, hand diving into his boxers to take him and give him a slow pump. Pulling back, your eyes open wide in surprise; you twist your wrist and palm his weeping head.

“You’re the one packing, huh, big boy?” You then bite your lip. Lick it. Drag your thumb over his slit and pull a grunt from deep within the pit of his stomach.

Somewhere below the knotting, there’s a fire burning, raging, and it needs to be sheathed, covered, surrounded. It’s gross, and it’s oh so Dean, but he needs it put out and a wet pussy will do.

Sam thrusts into your touch. He can’t help it. Fuck, he wants to move.

“You think you can handle me, baby?” he rasps into your parted mouth, stretching his arm over and behind, fumbling for the string of foils and tears one off.

“I’m gonna fucking try,” you say, and the wordplay, whether on purpose, is not lost.

He rolls to his back, and you’re already pouncing, pulling his underwear further down and off. You straddle his legs, take the little packet in your hand, and stroke him some more, up close, eye to eye.

You kiss the tip, watching as it flexes. His fingers do the same ‘round the ends of your hair. They curl then grip. Yours is firm around his base. And the sight?

The sight.

He’s died and gone to heaven. Too long since he’s seen a woman between his legs, those eyes still half lidded, still full of lust. You’re greedy. You’re needy. The way you hold your gaze as he feels the heat of your mouth nip at his skin, breath warm and wet, floods through him.

The way you sink further down.

Sam rolls his head back, his crown pushes into the pillow bunched up below. He wants to look, wants to pull at the strands of hair that still lace through his fingers and yank you down so you take all of him in.

Your tongue glides down the underside, flattened and rough, encasing, but with a light graze from two front teeth up top. The suction is so tight. The stretch around him burns his own skin. The way you drag back, then spit, swirl the saliva, and do it again, coating him all sloppy that it’s gleaming, all slippery and dripping like you were. Like you will be again. His gut curls in on itself now.

He’s tingling. He’s buzzing. He’d be high as a kite, if it weren’t for your thighs keeping him down. Their weight, your weight, making him go numb with need.

You pump your fist down low, swiping your smallest finger over the velvety skin covering his balls. A drop of him or you pools there, then drips further down. “Fuck.” He then calls your name.

“You ready for me, big boy?” you ask again, and he’s snickering at the way you say it.

“Yeah.” His arm releases you and flops over his forehead, but the sound of that little wrapper in your grasp rectifies that. He’s peeping out from under himself as you roll the rubber down.

He’s so sensitive, it stings like the bite of some bug. Balls more so as you drag yourself up and over him. Cockhead catches where you split down the middle, rubbing across your puckered hole.

You bite your lip. How many times now he’s lost count? You raise yourself, grabbing him where he’s thickest. Those eyes of yours stare at him again. They continue to hold that gaze as you lower back down, grin only curling further up, as your lower lips stretch around him.

“So big,” you say this time, and he can’t tell if you’re yanking his chain or really mean it. Your cheeks puffed and your mouth all white from shining teeth, just like the rest of you.

Like your perky ass, kissing his pelvis. Like your thighs squeezing him, much like the vice between them. Tight, wet and hot.

“Can you handle it? Can you move, baby? Gonna ride me? Gonna cum all over me?” God. Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this guy, all confident and cocky?

The guy with the big cock in your cunt. That’s who.

Sam chuckles to himself. Still can’t believe his luck. But you’re raising again, and sliding back down, and all he can do is hold on.

His fingers dig into your thighs. He presses his nails into your soft body. He helps you rise and fall over him.

He’s making the ride smooth and savouring the feel of your walls closing around him. Feels the fluttering, and the beginnings of new tremors. Marvels at how much more wet you’ve become.

The sounds. It really is music. The way you, your tits, and your skin slap with each thrust and bounce. The louder claps of his pelvis hitting yours and the sheen of perspiration between has his head swirling with images he needs.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam lifts you just slight. Raises his legs; bends his knees; jostles you so his neck doesn’t need to strain as far so his mouth can reach.

He pistons his hips, hears the slaps, tastes the sweat, feels the pants against his chin and cheek. Memories blend, and ghosts of his past weave in and out around you. You could be Jess, you could be Sarah, but it’s you who’s mouthing him. Not exactly kissing, too focused on making your bodies move.

“Fuck, Sam,” you squeal.

His hands spread you wider. He grunts your name into his ear.

He can’t keep up the pace as much as he’d like to. Can’t keep up the facade. It’s better if he sees your face to remind him who he’s there with. He can’t do that with a curtain of hair.

So he taps, twice on the fine edge of a curve, has your eyes firm on his.

“Wanna switch, baby?” he asks, and thinks quick for a reason. “Need to see that pretty face when you come.” He’d try to roll over with you in his arms, but he can just see that being disastrous. Losing his balance or getting an elbow somewhere where it shouldn’t.

He doesn’t have to worry because you’re lifting off. You fling yourself to his side and wriggle your back against the bedcovers. Open your legs wide, hands draped where your panty line would be.

“You gonna make me come again, big boy? Gonna fill me up with that thing?” you say, and he’s over you in one swift movement.

Sam grabs his cock and runs the covered tip over your entrance to tease you back. Watches the twinkle in your eye as it runs over your clit and you moan, just for show.

Man, he’s lucky. Who the hell meets someone by a urinal and then gets to fuck them? Wait, no. He doesn’t wanna answer that. He’ll just keep marvelling at his luck at the gorgeous woman below him. The one who was busting to spring a leak, now waiting for him to bust his nut and hers.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Still, he glides back in with ease. How wet you are for him makes it so.

He wishes he could feel it, he’s just not that stupid, but he can imagine if he remembers your mouth and how it felt ‘round him, taking him deep.

You still do.

Your legs hook over him, and he hitches the left up higher with his elbow. His cock sinks deeper, base flush against your seam.

“Fuck me, Sam.” You’re squirming. It’s right out of a movie or a book. He’s John Snow or Jamie, and you’re - god no. You’re you and he’s him, and he’s, fuck, yeah, he’s fucking you.

He snaps his hips. Feels that burn again as his balls collide with your ass. His thumb is drawing little circles over where you join and he goes for it.

He leans over, bending you with him, stretching you open, dreams of splitting you in two. You moan. Your walls flutter again. You tremble and your thighs contract.

They’re powerful, much more than before. The back of your knee pulls on his arm and he only grips tighter. Hand on your shin. The other palm pushes you down.

It’s the perfect angle. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Perfect to dive in deeper. Feel you flex and accommodate his size.

Your mouth produces a hiss. It’s like a whine at the same time. Forming an O with your lips that then spreads wide into an “Ah.” Elongated. A laugh. A giggle. Whatever it is, he’s doing something right because your thighs are trembling again and your leg is trying to pull away.

His hand presses firmer, but he’s pulling you and shifting back, raising you up so you’re his handle on the ride. His tip is dragging out through you now and spearing you when he goes back in.

Thrusts are quick. Sweat falls from his brow. He feels the way your body pushes back against him. He’s an intruder, but he’s not backing down.

His stomach is tight. His legs ache and tremor, just as yours does. But that pull? The way his dick swells? It’s magnetised, pushes as deep as it can go. It’s determined to bury itself to the hilt.

And when you say, “Fuck,” again, but there’s another, and an added, “God. I’m gonna come,” Sam snaps his hips and watches your face closely.

A huge grin. The biggest yet; stretches into your eyes, twitches your lip and raises your jaw high. Your neck, exposed like a bloodsucker’s prey, and Sam is doubling over to claim it.

His tongue glides up your neck, teeth nip at your skin. He’s sucking like you’re his last meal. His pace wanes as your walls try to push him out, but he’s rocking his hips with purchase, pushing back in deep.

Another, “Fuck,” leaves you, but he’s seeing white. His balls throb and he’s spilling into what little space is left in the Trojan. He’s so far high on cloud fucking nine, he forgets where he is and who’s under him.

He’s spent. That was way better than any quickie in the shower. The warmth beneath him. Perfect round tits pressed against his hardened chest tremble and shake.

“Fuck.” It’s his turn now, but it comes out more like a groan. He pants. Body heavy, yet light as air. He tries to move, but everything is jello and shaking.

Your arms have been clinging to his back, your slick pussy would if it could, but it’s still fluttering, and he chuckles deep.

You giggle on reflex, and somehow it gives him the strength to look up and search for a kiss. The sweat is intense. Fruit, now barely there, but the after-sex-glow kissing your cheeks is better than anything else.

“Wow, big boy,” you say between your own pants. “Fuck.” He could hear that again and again. “That was quite a ride.”

“Yeah?” he says, though he really doesn’t have to ask.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s breathless, it’s hearty, it’s reminiscent of a time he should forget when you’re there with him, so he does. He tries.

He rolls over to the side and removes the rubber. His muscles remember to roll back and drape his arm over your middle. Fingers flex at your side and he breathes in the citrus remnants in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

For a moment, he’s not in the dingy motel, but in his room. Yours too, maybe? He’s still at college ‘cause he is young, and he still has his whole life ahead of him.

There are no monsters. No salt, no burns, knives or guns, and Dean? Well, Dean can be there too, he supposes. Just separate, the other side of town. Further in Milroy.

Yeah. Pennsylvania. That’s perfect, too.

The weight of you draws him in further to dreaming. The warmth of you finally lolls him off, but neither is there when he stirs the next morning. The space in the bed beside him is cold and the thumps on the door rattle the chill he’s left with. His body, no longer jello, but stone-like, and cold.

No feathers in sight, unless the pillow bunched up beneath him again is made of them. He is dumb if he thinks it’s true.

The newfound churning in his gut tells him he’s foolish, though, and when he opens his eyes and scans the room, he’s a bigger fool than Dean. What was he hoping for? That you’d be there with bacon and eggs? A morning coffee? Waking him up for another round?

No. Of course not. The bathroom door is wide open, and no feminine clothes, litter the floor. Of course you’d be long gone. You’d told him something of the sort last night.

“I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow.” Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what you said. He just didn’t realise you’d be the first.

Sam rubs his face. Pushes his hair back out of it and stands. The bangs are getting old, and the district “Sammy” that comes with them grates his eardrums. He’s not so big anymore.

No, he’s little brother Winchester.

Bitch.

“Sammy.” Dean bellows again. “Sock time’s over!” Another thump. “You’re abusing the privilege. ‘S only supposed to be two hours, max. Three if you’re ménaging.” A lecherous laugh follows.

Who’s older and who’s younger? Well, it’s only four years.

Sam rolls his eyes and picks his boxers up as he walks around the bed. He grabs his t-shirt at the midway point, and strolls over to the door.

Dean’s fist is held up in greeting when he opens, but Sam’s turning before the stupid grin gets any bigger.

“Oh c’mon man. On my bed?”

“It’s not like you were using it,” Sam says, back still towards him as he grabs what he needs and heads for the shower.

“Where’s the girl?” follows him there.

There’s a twinge of a smile as he closes the door, but a sigh replaces it. He runs his hand through his hair again, holding it there as he looks around.

Nothing’s out of place. No signs of anyone else occupying the space unless you count the seat on the John being down. “You’re getting sentimental over a toilet?” he whispers, and shakes his head. Grabs his toothbrush; squeezes the paste.

Pearly whites and hands on him flash before his eyes. He goes through the motions after that.

There’s a perfectly rounded tit in his hand, heaving as he squeezes, then lets go. A, “Fuck,�� moaned into his ear when he turns on the faucet, plump lips and lust-blown eyes spitting on his tip when he spits into the sink. The lingering drop on the porcelain drips down nice and slow. He’s got a small mark on his shoulder. When he twists, he sees a couple of tiny dints in his back. His cock is stirring as his eyes travel his waist, imagines perfect hands gripping him firm.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean says through the crack, and it makes him startle.

Big boy chokes and yanks on the handle. How the hell does he know?

“You sly dog. So you did get your dingle wet.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is rather high. His cheeks are pushing the limits again and he’s hiding the smirk that’s trying to rise.

“You know.” Dean chuckles. “Widdle Sammy got waid.” He even goes as far as to slap his side as he holds up a note with ten beautiful digits scrawled between a heart and a ‘call me.’

“Give me that.” Sam snatches the note; grabs his phone, refusing to look Dean in the eye when he slams the door. They’re too busy scanning the digits, each curve, each bubble, each dot as he punches the numbers into his contacts, his thumb hovers over pressing call.

Is he desperate? Yes, but his ego holds him back. It will at least, until they hit the road.

From Muncie to god knows where next, he’s got no idea. Another town, another case? Maybe. But there’ll be nowhere as special there and no-one as perfect as the girl who almost…made him ditch his shoe.

For those who don’t recognise the Japanese reference, “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” (お前はもう死んでいる) translates to “you are also going to die.”

Tagging those who showed interest from the WIP folder game, and those who asked to be tagged in everything SPN ✌️

@losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @roseblue373 @middleearthislife

Do you want to see more Sam stuff? LMK

#sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester #spn x reader #spn reader insert #reader insert #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jared padalecki

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castielscaplan · 2 months ago

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Lovely Mornings (Sam Winchester)

Summary: you've been feeling down lately and Sam makes you breakfast to cheer you up.

Warnings: mild sad feelings, but fluff otherwise.

WC: 425

Read on ao3!

A/N: idea came to me from reading this prompt list!

You had been feeling off lately—tired, a little withdrawn, weighed down by the heaviness of the hunts and everything else. The constant motion, the never-ending danger, it was starting to get to you.

And even though you were trying to keep it together, Sam could tell.

You sat at the small kitchen table, sipping your coffee slowly, eyes distant. You hadn’t even noticed Sam slipping into the kitchen until you heard the soft clink of dishes.

"I know you’ve been feeling down," he said quietly, his deep voice breaking through the haze of your thoughts. You turned to find him standing by the stove, a faint smile on his lips. "But I made breakfast."

You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected anything like that. Sam wasn’t much of a cook—he could make a mean burger, but that was about it.

"You did?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned sheepishly, placing a plate of pancakes in front of you. "Well, I tried," he admitted, settling into the chair across from you. "It’s not perfect, but it’s edible."

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart warming a little at the effort. Sam had a way of making even the simplest things feel comforting.

"I appreciate it," you said, picking up your fork. You took a bite of the pancakes, and to your surprise, they were actually really good.

Sam watched you, his expression softening. "You’ve been quiet lately," he said gently. "I know things have been hard, but you don’t have to go through it alone."

You paused, staring at your plate for a moment. The weight of everything—the hunts, the constant threat, the feeling of never quite being able to catch your breath—it was a lot. But hearing Sam’s words, seeing the care in his eyes, made everything feel just a little bit lighter.

"Thanks, Sam," you murmured, looking up at him. "I didn’t know I needed this, but I really did."

He smiled warmly, reaching across the table to give your hand a gentle squeeze. "Anytime," he said softly. "You’re not alone, okay? We’re in this together."

You nodded, feeling a little bit of the tension release from your shoulders. There was something so grounding about Sam—the way he made everything seem manageable, even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

As you finished your breakfast, you found yourself leaning back in your chair, a sense of peace settling in your chest.

Maybe things weren’t perfect, but for this moment, with Sam by your side, everything felt alright.

//THIS IS A GENTLE REMIDNER TO REBLOG!\\

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #x reader #reader insert #female reader #fem reader #x female reader #sam winchester x male reader #sam winchester #jared padalecki x reader #jared padalecki x you

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goldenispunk · 1 year ago

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pov: your camera roll from life on the road with the Winchesters

#supernatural post for the supernatural website #Supernatural moodboard #supernatural #jensen ackles #dean winchester #spn #sam winchester #jared padalecki #Dean Winchester x reader #sam Winchester x reader #self insert #x reader

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supercap2319 · 1 year ago

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Dean: *Smiles charmingly* "You know, Y/N. You should go out with a real man."

Y/N: *Looks at him and smiles* "Sure. Do you know one?"

Sam: *Laughing in the corner*

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #supernatural #dean winchester #Dean Winchester x male reader #sam winchester #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

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castiwls · 1 year ago

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the prophecy - s.w

Paring; sam x reader

Prompt; 'please change the prophecy'

Requested;anon? (i can't see the req in my inbox so if it was you and you didn't req on anon pls lmk)

Notes;so sorry this took so long <3 p.s reqs and inbox are open again :)

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Love had always been a complicated thing. It seemed to come easy enough yet slip away even easier. Sam knew falling for you could be a fatal mistake for both him and you, yet he did it anyway.

He ignored that voice in the back of his head which picked and picked at him about how asking you out would only end in heartache. How being around him put you in danger, how simply knowing his name placed you in danger.

The voice continued to nag at him every waking moment. It reminded him constantly that every day could be your last, that when you met your end it would be his fault.

“Sam.” A hand on his chest pulled his attention from his thoughts. Your smile was bright as you lay on your side gazing at him. Pushing yourself up you lent your head on your hand. “What’s wrong?”

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Nothing. Just can’t sleep.” He spoke quietly. You hummed quietly looking at the wall for a moment. “Really?” You looked back to him moving now to sit up fully, crossing your legs under you.

You knew him too well. Taking one look at him was enough for you to know that something was up. That the voice inside his head was winning again.

“I’m fine. Seriously.” He sent you a weak smile reaching out to place a hand on your thigh.

“No. No your not.” You shook your head.

He let out a quiet sigh before moving to sit up against the headboard. He would never admit to you how he really felt. Admitting it would only make it real and he was determined to prove those thoughts wrong.

He was determined to keep you safe. To break the pattern.

He opened his arms reaching out for you. Taking the hint you moved into his arms, falling back against his chest your legs tangling with his. “I’m not gonna die.” You whispered after a moment.

Your words caused his breath to catch in his throat. His arms which were wrapped around your middle instinctively squeezed you closer. “Don’t say that.” He mumbled pressing his face into your hair.

Ice-cold fear ran through him as he tried to calm his breathing. People had said that to him before. Most of those people ended up dead.

Sam had never asked for much in his life. Food, a warm place to sleep, all the normal things anyone wanted. His wishes had always included someone who could give him that love and affection he craved so desperately and now he had that the thought of losing it left him frightened in a way he’d never been.

“I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.” You turned your head slightly, moving your arm back to gently cup his face. “Promise me…promise me you’ll stay.” He stared down at you, eyes wide like a child who was afraid of the dark.

Accept it wasn't the dark he was afraid of.

“I promise.”

He squeezed his eyes shut holding you impossibly closer as you gently stroked his cheek.

Maybe you were right. Maybe you were the exception, you would be the one who stayed. You’d be the one who he managed to keep safe. He knew nothing was for certain, no one could tell the future.

221 notes · View notes

imagineteamfreewill · 10 months ago

Text

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out.

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat.

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?”

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself.

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes.

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet.

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels.

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers.

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way.

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead.

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight.

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step.

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!”

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees.

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod.

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner.

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit.

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak.

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction.

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?”

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands.

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue.

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt.

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension.

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching.

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed.

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach.

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists.

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him.

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you.

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss.

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful.

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not.

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes.

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away.

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again.

“We definitely will,” he says.

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sofreddie · 12 days ago

Text

High School Reunion 5

Summary: Y/N travels to Texas to stay with Jensen during his hiatus. Y/N gets to meet the Padaleckis and a couple of unexpected guests.

Characters: Jensen Ackles/F!Fan!Reader, Jared Padalecki/Genevieve Padalecki, Others

Warnings: RPF, Fluff, Minor Angst, Domesticity, Implied Smut, Light Smut

WC: 2,463

A/N: I couldn't find a 'pool party' vibe GIF, but the above one with them all wet gets the point across. And...they're all wet. So that's always a plus!

Series Masterlist

Part 4

Y/N was incredibly nervous as she stepped off the plane in Texas. She hadn't flown anywhere since she was a kid. Her anxiety was through the roof, despite the medication she took to help. However, Jensen had asked her to stay with him at his home during his hiatus. A whole week together, and she couldn't be happier.

Jensen had publicly stated that he was in a relationship. Still, not with whom or many other details, though the fans seemed to put things together from the photos at the reunion, and she was gratefully surprised that it didn't disrupt her life much and that there appeared to be an overwhelmingly positive response, with a few exceptions. But Jensen had told her to ignore it, and she was more than happy to.

Though tired and rundown from her travels, she immediately perked up when her eyes landed on Jensen, waiting for her as she had with him. She dropped her bags and rushed into his open arms, hugging him tight and pecking his lips. The huge grin he bore eased her nerves more than the meds.

He drove her through Austin to his home, pointing out things of interest and significance throughout the city. It was beautiful, and the ease of talking and being with Jensen made it all worthwhile. When she entered his home, guided with his hand on her back as he carried her bags, her jaw dropped. She'd never seen anything so lovely.

"Wow."

"Thanks," he chuckled. "Let's put your bags upstairs, then I'll give you a tour."

She agreed, looking around as he led her up the stairs and to his bedroom. It was large, with a massive king-sized bed in the middle that looked incredibly inviting. Once her bags were set aside, Jensen wasted no time taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless, the way he was itching to and couldn’t with prying eyes. When they fell to the bed in tangled limbs, she knew the tour would have to wait; not that she minded.

The whole first day, they spent in his large, luxurious bed. When they weren't exploring carnal desires or sleeping, they were talking, as always, learning everything about each other and their lives. Y/N felt like Jensen was her best friend, someone she could trust completely. She opened up to him about things she'd never talked about, but he wanted to know, and though she feared that sooner or later he'd have enough and no longer wish to hear anymore, he always asked for more. And he gave in return, sharing with her all manner of details that she never would have known or guessed, and each only made her fall harder.

They had to leave the bed for food, though neither could keep their hands to themselves, and ended up bringing it back to bed. They'd even started a movie, but it was forgotten as they made out, giving in to whatever round it was. She'd long since lost count.

Jensen couldn't get enough of her. She was in his home, in his bed, in his arms. He hated being apart from her. Now, he had her for a whole week. He tried not to think about when she'd leave, instead focusing on her being there.

By the evening of the second night, they were both worn out from the activity. So they opted to watch a movie in the living room, cuddled on the couch. Jensen was topless, wearing only boxers and silky pajama bottoms, his bare feet crossed and resting on the coffee table. Y/N curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders, wearing only her panties and a silky button-down top - the other half to his pajama set. He loved seeing her in his clothes, casual and thoroughly debauched, tucked into his side where she fit perfectly. He couldn't remember ever feeling this happy or in love.

He decided to tell her just that, but his phone rang with Jared's familiar tone. Jensen groaned and sat up, retrieving his phone from the coffee table.

"Hey, Jare."

"Hey, man. Gen wanted to know if you're still coming to the barbecue tomorrow?"

Jensen often went to Jared's on hiatus to visit with his family. They'd usually grill and play in the pool with Jared's kids. He looked forward to it every time. He glanced at Y/N, knowing she could hear, and mouthed 'wanna?'. She smiled and nodded, pecking his cheek.

"Yeah, of course. Can I bring Y/N?"

"She's there?!" Jared squealed excitedly, making Jensen pull the phone from his ear with a wince.

"Yes. She's staying with me all week."

"Oh my God! Bring her! Yes! I'm gonna tell Gen."

They said goodbye, and Jensen chuckled as he put the phone away. Y/N was equally excited and nervous to meet the Padaleckis. She didn't want to make a fool of herself or embarrass Jensen. Yes, she had briefly spoken to Jared on the phone and via video calls a few times, but this was their first face-to-face meeting. Not to mention meeting Genevieve. God, she hoped she didn't fangirl and ruin everything.

They arrived the following afternoon at Jared's house, which was just as big and nice as Jensen's. Y/N wore a two-piece bathing suit beneath a simple, short summer dress. She barely got Jensen's hands off her long enough for them to get to Jared's place. He held her hand as he knocked, and a minute later, the door opened to reveal a smiling and gorgeous Genevieve Padalecki. Y/N was able to barely swallow down the excited squeal that wanted to break free.

"Hey, Guys, come on in. You must be Y/N?"

"Hi," Y/N flushed, the inner fangirl going a little wild, but she managed to keep her calm. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you."

Gen, as she insisted on being called, guided them through the house and out to the backyard where Jared was supervising the kids as they played in the pool. When he saw her and Jensen, he was on his feet and rushing towards them. Gen kept an eye on the kids as Jared gave Jensen a quick hug, then scooped Y/N into his arms with a big grin.

"Y/N! It's so good to meet you finally," he laughed, hugging her again for good measure.

"This feels backwards," Y/N joked. "Shouldn't I be the one squealing in excitement?"

"Well, you are a Sam girl."

She grinned and interlocked her fingers with Jensen's, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Actually, I think I'm becoming a Dean girl."

Jared gasped and held a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Betrayal. I can't believe it!" She chuckled at his overdramatization and grinned up at Jensen, who gave her a proud, beaming smile before pecking her lips.

Before long, they were all in the pool with the kids. Jensen still couldn't keep his hands to himself, not even when they began playing lighthearted, team-based, competitive games in the pool with the kids. She'd called him out for 'cheating' by distracting her with his hands on her body. He kept it light and decent, of course, in the presence of company and children, but he was very busy being completely smitten. She fit right in and, after a hesitant start, she was talking and laughing with everyone as if she'd always been a part of the group.

After a while, Gen excused herself to begin prepping food for dinner. Y/N offered to help, but Gen waved her off, insisting she enjoy the pool and the nice weather. She opted to sit on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water. It was a beautiful day, but she was a little tuckered out from all the play and roughhousing, though she loved every minute of it.

The reprieve gave her a chance to observe Jensen, relaxed and enjoying his extended family. He was gorgeous, his skin sun-kissed and glistening from the water. He was so good with the kids, a natural, and the thought had her biting her lip. He'd be such a good father. As she was lost in her thoughts, Jensen swam over to her, the others climbing out of the pool to rest and dry off. He rested his hands on her hips, his chin in her lap as he smiled up at her.

"You look so good in that bathing suit," he spoke low and deep, just for her. "Makes me wanna rip it off ya."

"You're insatiable," she giggled.

"I am for you." He leaned up, accepting her tender kiss, and fought with himself not to deepen it. "What were you thinking over here?"

"Just how good you are with the kids," she bashfully admitted.

"I always wanted kids," Jensen said.

"Me too. Always wanted a big family. Like five kids," she chuckled.

"Five?!"

She laughed and shrugged.

"I thought about three or four," Jensen said, and she was pleasantly surprised to be having such a serious conversation so openly with the man she loved.

"I don't know, I mean, I could end up having one and deciding that was enough," she laughed.

"I think you'd make an amazing mother," Jensen spoke against her lips before kissing her deeply.

He hopped out of the pool and helped her to her feet as they dried off and cleaned up. She slipped her dress back on once she was dry and her and Gen sat on the padded patio chairs with glasses of wine, chatting and getting to know each other while poking fun at their men. Jared and Jensen stood at the grill with beers, whispering among themselves and flashing smiles and winks at her and Gen. It was ridiculous and cute and so domestic that it made her heart clench with intense love and appreciation.

When two new guests arrived, however, her elation gave way to panic.

"Mom!" Jensen grinned, moving to greet and hug his parents.

Y/N looked at Gen, "Mom?"

"I'm so sorry, I forgot. I saw Donna downtown and I invited her to dinner. I didn't mean to set you up, I swear."

Y/N was grateful that Gen was holding her hands, soothing her panic the way a proper girlfriend would do. She understood, since Jared didn't even know she was here until he'd talked to Jensen the night before.

"No, it's okay. I wasn't expecting to meet the parents," she chuckled nervously. Jensen turned and smiled at her, gesturing her over with a wave.

"They'll love you. You got this," Gen encouraged. Y/N nodded to herself, smiling nervously as she joined Jensen.

"Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Y/N."

"Oh, it's so nice to meet you," his mother crooned, wrapping her arms around Y/N unexpectedly and hugging her tightly. Before she could respond, his father also pulled her into a hug. She began to wonder if hugging as a greeting was a Texas thing, or if Jensen just surrounded himself with people who were the hugging type.

As they joined them for dinner, sitting at the outdoor table as a group, Y/N found they were as easy to be around as Jensen. Her nerves settled as the whole family chatted and caught up with each other. She felt a part of it all, like she fit in there, and she turned to smile at Jensen, who was already looking at her with a tender expression.

"I love your family," she whispered to him.

He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb, "I love you."

Her breath caught in her throat, but gave way to an elated smile. "I love you, too," she bashfully responded.

Jensen's grin grew as he leaned in, kissing her sweetly. Their tender moment was interrupted by Jared hooting a cheer at their kiss and shared sentiments. When they broke apart, they noticed the whole table was smiling and giggling at them. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she fought the rising heat in her cheeks. She was a bit overwhelmed from meeting everyone, meeting his parents, and the beautiful homes and domestic bliss. However, it also had her on cloud nine, as she had never felt happier in her entire life.

When they returned to Jensen's home late that night, they were giggly and a little drunk. They managed to make it upstairs to the bedroom, leaving a trail of their clothes from the front door to the bed, eager to be together once again. They made love all night, still insatiable for one another, yet ever aware that in less than a day, she'd be back on a plane home, leading to more rounds to drown their sorrows and make up for whatever time would be spent apart.

In the early hours of the morning, as the sun broke over the horizon, they lay awake in silence. Y/N's head was on Jensen's chest, a hand over his stomach. Jensen rested his cheek atop her head, one arm around her shoulders to hold her close, the other holding her hand on his abs. The joy of their declared love and post-coital bliss faded into something sombre in the silent stillness.

"Move in with me?" Jensen whispered. Y/N lifted her head to look at him, unsure she'd heard him correctly. He met her questioning gaze, his eyes holding a deep sadness and a spark of hope. "Move in with me?" he repeated. "I can't stand it when we're apart for so long."

He leaned up on one elbow, cupping her cheek with his other hand as he kissed her. He laid her back on the bed, kissing her neck and collarbone as he continued his plea.

"I have half a week before I have to be back to work," he spoke against her skin. She moaned, her hands running through his hair. "I could fly back with you, help you pack up. We could bring everything here, then you could come stay in Vancouver with me while I work."

"Someone's thought this out," she teased, her laugh broken by another moan as he lapped at her nipple.

"You tellin' me you haven't?" he asked, switching to the other breast and giving it the same attention.

"Of course I have," she whined, bucking her hips into his as he sucked a mark on the underside of her breast.

"I've thought about it since I first stayed at your house and had to leave," he hovered above her, their bodies pressed together. "Move in with me?"

"Yes," she excitedly agreed, chuckling and kissing him before he worked his way down her body and between her legs.

PART 6

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lovelywebber · 13 hours ago

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No One Noticed

Dean Winchester x Fem!reader

Synopsis: The aftermath of Dean and yours breakup is rough-especially when you run into each other during a hunt.

Warnings: Slight swearing, Crappy angst, happy ending, fluffy ending.

A/N: Hiya! This is my first piece on this account and I hope you excuse my poor writing, but otherwise enjoy! (I did a brief editing before posting so hopefully it aint that bad.)

Maybe I

Tears were streaming down your face-a common occurrence as of late.

The stuffy motel air was suffocating, or maybe that was the neighboring man with his cigar.

You had checked your voicemail for the 6th time today, but alas all 4 messages were from Sam Winchester. Not his brother, who had broken your heart not even 2 weeks ago.

Lost My Mind

Sam had been sending voicemails updating you on their lives, carefully leaving out any mention of Dean flirting with random women along the way-he had no idea what was going on in his brothers head to try and move on quick. His hypnosis was that Dean yet again was trying to bury the pain behind liquor and women.

You clicked on Sam's latest message-letting it play as you cleaned your guns.

"Hey Y/N! Just wanted to let you know we finished that werewolf hunt in Arkansas and we're back on the road again. Please call me back, We'r-I'm getting worried. Please call me when you get this. I just want to know that you are ok."

The voicemail ended and you decided it wasn't to late enough to call Sam.

The ring of the phone echoed through the room-before a small "Hello?" was heard.

You took a deep breath before replying, "Hi Sam." You heard a gasp on the other end.

"Y-Y/N! How are you? Where are you? You are safe right?" Sam was feeling a mixture of emotions, hurt, relief, and most of all concern. All of these emotions were heard clear by you through his rapid talking.

You chuckled dryly, "I'm ok Sam, I'm currently on a easy salt-and-burn case in Missouri. I'm as safe as I can be-how are you doing?"

"He was a jerk" Was all Sam replied with-another chuckle came out of you.

"Yeah, tell me about it. You are doing fine Sam, right?" Sam was like a little brother to you-concern was the base of emotions you always felt for him.

No One Noticed

He sighed, "Yes I'm-We're ok, I'll keep you updated so you don't worry." You sigh in relief-despite already hearing that they were fine from the voicemail.

"All right Sam, I'll let you go. Just didn't want to burden you with worry. Love ya'." A sad smile crept on your face.

"Alright, stay safe. Love You too." He hung up after a second of silence and words went unsaid.

No One Noticed

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks had passed since that call with Sam. Heartbreak still heavy in your heart concerning the older Winchester.

You were now in Illinois for another simple salt-and-burn.

You had already talked to the victims family and done all the boring research-you were now gathering your equipment to burn the ghost.

The ghost had been an older women who been murdered by her own son-must've been some disagreement.

You were checking your phone again, for who you? you didn't know (Dean Winchester).

Its Getting Old (I'd Kinda Like It If You'd Call me)

The grave was dug up and you were just coating the bones in gasoline before throwing in a lit match. Job completed.

You were driving back to your motel when you saw a flash of a familiar car.

You slouched in your seat and sighed-you finally reached the conclusion you were going crazy.

All Alone ('Cause I'm So Over Bein' Lonely)

The motel room felt more lonely than ever. You were alone as usually lately-but you never felt more alone than after a hunt when it used to be spent with your favorite people.

May Have Lost It (I Need A Virtual Connection)

After a steaming hot shower you cozied up in bed-yet again caught yourself checking your phone again. No messages from the person you wanted.

A rumble of an older sounding car woke you up from your almost asleep state. You grumbled in annoyance as it just reminded you of him. But what were the chances he and Sammy would be here. Too slim.

I Have Lost It (Be my Video Obsession)

You checked the time on your phone, as the alarm clock was broken next to your bed. It read 12:04 am enlisting a groan out of you.

You checked your messages again...

1 new message from Sammy ;)

"Hey Y/N! Just wanted to let you know we are in Illinois for a case involving a Ghost. Please call me back and let me know you're still safe."

You sat in the musty motel sheets in shock.

There was no way

You were just going crazy and it couldn't have actually been the impala driving in the parking lot. No-they were at another Ghost hunt that coincidently resided in Illinois.

A peak outside to ease your conscience wouldn't hurt, right?

You put on some shorts and a hoodie over your original sleeping outfit before peaking out the window. Which didn't give you as much of a scope of the parking lot as you wanted.

The smell of rain hit your senses as soon as you walked out the door. You walked out and let your self take in a deep breath of the fresh air.

You were walking around the pathway next to the rooms when it started pouring again. You looked up thankful that there was cover over your head.

You were scanning the parking lot for the familiar car but stopped when you heard his voice.

No One Tried

"No Sammy, I'm not going down this road with you again!" He yelled at Sam, they were clearly talking about a tough topic with the way Dean was closing himself off.

Your heart sped up as you started speed walking back to your room. "Jeez how far did I walk" You mumbled to yourself, so lost in your frenzy that you didn't hear their room door slam shut.

To Read My Eyes

"Y/N." The words sent a cold chill down your back, but effectively making you stop in your tracks.

You turn around facing your fate and their he is.

Dean.

No One But You

You felt like you could drop dead any moment now with how fast your heart was racing.

facing him again like this, unprepared, it was brutal. completely unfair.

"Dean." You finally gained the courage to cut through the tense silence.

It hurt looking at him again, even with 10 feet in between you.

Wish It Weren't True

"You following us or somethin'?" He speaks. But the words have a painful hold. An accusation is the first thing he says to you besides your name.

If only you could laugh.

Instead you shake your head in disbelief and hurt. You turn back around and decide to cut through the parking lot to your room.

Anything to get away from him.

"Y/N, wait." His voice echoes, even through the harsh rain.

You shake your head and continue to walk. It hurts to much.

Maybe I (I'd Kinda Like It If You'd Call Me)

"Stop. Where are you going?" His voice was closer now-and a little more uneasy.

You felt a hand pull yours back. "Stop, please." He whispered.

You turned around, his hand still holding your wrist. You try your best to hold a blank expression. The stinging in your eyes told you it wouldn't last long.

it's Not Right ('Cause I'm So Over Bein' Lonely)

"Why are you here?" Dean asks with tenderness in his voice, not trying to hide it. He rubs his thumb on the back of your hand.

You pull out of his grip.

"I'm not hear because of you, I finished the Ghost case so you guys can leave." You turned your nose up at him to seem stronger and more controlled than you felt.

Make You Mine (I Need A Virtual Connection)

A look of concern flashed over his face-but quickly morphed into that of anger.

'You've been hunting by yourself?"

"Yeah? Why? Did you think I wouldn't?" What was his deal?

"It stupid of you to being hunting alone. Have you had anyone with you?"

Take Our Time (Be My Video Obsession)

"No, and not like its any of your business I have just been doing salt-and-burns, just ask Sam." You cross your arms around your torso, trying to protect yourself from him. Not physically, just emotionally.

Come on, don't leave me, it can't be that easy, babe

A little bit of hurt is seen on Deans face, most likely because you mentioned keeping in contact with his brother, even though he was the one who ended things.

"Goodbye Dean." You start heading back to your room, now completely drenched in rain.

if you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane

"I wasn't done talking to you." His voice stops you before you make it far from him.

"And why would I continue to talk to you? You Hurt me Dean. Our last conversation-if you can even call it that-was by far the most hurtful we've ever had. So I really don't want to talk to you in case it happens again." The pain in your heart was starting to throb.

Fly to your city, excited to see your face

You look at him, making eye contact with those eyes you loved so much.

Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace (maybe I)

His eyes were pleading for you to talk to him.

Come on, Don't Leave me, It Can't Be That Easy, Babe (It's not right)

"You wanna talk fine-You left me." You decided to cut through the silence.

He looked down to the ground with shame.

"You left me after the argument. Where you basically told me you didn't love me anymore!" Tears mixed with the rain, what a great day for rain.

Dean looked up from his shoes and his eyes found yours. His completely overflowing with regret. Yours with hurt.

If you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane (make you mine)

"Are you going to say anything? I talked-now its your turn." Seeing him after what you thought would be the last time hurt.

Silence hung in the air

You scoffed and turned around. It was bad enough he tried to make you feel guilty-but it was worse when he didn't try to explain himself.

Fly to your city, excited to see your face (take our time)

"I never said I didn't love you." a mumbled voice is heard.

You turned back around quick enough to give anyone whiplash.

"What?"

Dean was staring at the ground in front of him. What a coward move.

"I never said I didn't love you." Dean spoke up this time

Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace

Dean looked up and his eyes searched your-both his and yours on the search for the connection you still hoped was there.

"So why did you push me away? You ended things." You said quietly, stepping closer to the magnetizing force that Dean was.

"It was to protect you." Bullshit.

You took an angry step towards him, taking a calming breath before responding.

"I have been with you through so much, I'm sorry I assumed you thought we were equals. Not something to look down upon." You both stared into each others eyes. You remembered the late nights in the bunker-the whispered declarations of love, all of the sweet memories.

He shook his head denying the claims. He placed his hands on your shoulders-essentially latching onto you.

"No-No, I would never look down upon you. You are just as capable-if not more-than Sam or I."

Quiet silence ensued.

"I just didn't want to lose you." Dean had tears in his eyes now, you had just taken in how his eyes had red rims around them-showing he had been crying a lot before.

"Why didn't you call?" was the only mix of words that would be able to leave your mouth.

I'd kinda like it if you'd call me (it's not right)

Dean shook his head again

"I wanted to-so bad, but I thought you would hate to hear from me again. I know I hurt you, and that-that tore me apart much more than anything else.

You placed you hand on the side of his face-he leaned into it almost instantly.

"You cant push me away because you are scared." Your heart melted at the familiar feeling of his face in your hands.

'Cause I'm so over being lonely (Make you mine)

Deans hand reached up to enclose your own that held his face. He gently pulled you hand to his lips and he kissed them tenderly. His eyes met yours again as he did so, a sorry present in his eyes.

"I cross my heart, sweetheart."

I need a virtual connection (take our time)

Butterflies filled your stomach as you pulled your hand from his-placing them on his face again and pulled him in.

He let out a shaky sigh of relief as soon as he kissed back.

In between kisses you spoke, "You can't let this happen again, Dean. I Love you-I don't want to be split from you again."

"I don't want you to split from me again too." He muffled in-between kisses.

You pull away, hands still on both sides of his face. Dean looked like he was in a love sick daze as you both separated.

"I'm serious dean." His hands snaked around your waist and pulled you in.

"I am too, It hurt to much to watch you go. And its never going to happen again." Dean had never looked at you with so much sincerity before.

You nod before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a hug.

"I missed you so much." You say as you hug him tighter.

He hugged you back just as tight, "I missed you too, darling. Way too much."

Comfortable silence was all you bother could hear. Nothing but the sound of nature surrounding the area singing.

"Did you already solve the hunt?"

"Yup"

He chuckled, "Thats my girl."

Be my video obsession

A/N: I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! Love ya! <3

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spiritkissin · 8 days ago

Text

NOW INTRODUCING…

Belle!reader

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❀ belle!reader who is exactly how she sounds, a southern belle. A sweet girl with a thick accent and a strong will.

❀ belle!reader who is first introduced to Sam and Dean by Bobby, who is not technically her dad, but he’s the closest thing she’s got.

❀ belle!reader who flirts without knowing it, always usin’ that sweet voice and sending Dean or sam winks, even casually calling them pet names such as: baby, sweetheart, honey, handsome, sugar, pretty boy(s)

❀ belle!reader who doesn’t hunt herself, but knows a damn ton about it. I mean, this girl could defend herself if it really came down to it. Belle could be painting her nails one second, and beating someone’s face in the next (with the same hand too.)

❀ belle!reader who loves, and I mean loves going on car rides with Sam n’ Dean. Even if it’s just to the gas station or to the next state. She loves sitting in the back, rolling the window down, and sticking her head out to catch the wind in her hair. Never mind the fact that both boys are trying— and failing —To not stare at her the whole time.

❀ belle!reader who’s a sweet lil’ thing, wild and free, but also so gentle and caring. Doing whatever she can to protect her loved ones, all while wearing the cutest kitten heels or some boots.

❀ belle!reader who has a bit of a troubled past, but hey, who doesn’t? Belle won’t discuss it with no one, but it’s there. She knows it is, deep down she knows. But she’ll hide it all behind her pearly white smile and perfectly curled voluminous hair.

belles not so finished playlist ⇩

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ambiguous-avery · 2 months ago

Note

Hii! Im not sure if you write for Sam Winchester, but thought I'd ask anyway.

Could you do a sam winchester x fem reader smut, preferably with a size kink and soft dom or just dom Sam? Other than that I don't really care other than its smut<3

In His Hands

bf!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2687

Summary: There were so many reasons to love Sam Winchester. His ability to find the good in bad situations. The way he always held out hope for even the worst situations. His puppy eyes that would make you cave to just about anything. His wonderfully smart brain. But you can’t deny that his height may have played a part in your attraction to him. Just means there’s a lot more of him to love.

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader is described as being smaller than Sam, reader is AFAB, femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl, baby girl), size kink, soft dom!Sam, consent checks via traffic light system, oral sex (F receiving), unprotected PIV sex, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Ahh thanks for the request, anon! I apologize for the delay in getting this to you! Hope this is what you were looking for! 💜 Not that anyone asked or cares, but I am a whopping 5 feet tall, and I dated someone who was 6’8” for several years. I may have a bit of a size kink myself... All that to say that I really enjoyed writing this! This is also doubling as a work for @sammybirthdaybonanza!

You should’ve known that you were done for from the second you had playfully compared your hand against Sam’s, his long fingers dwarfing yours with ease. Now, those same long fingers held both of your wrists above your head, pinning them firmly against the mattress. His weight was a delicious pressure over you, his knee nudging your thighs apart as his lips hovered just above yours. Close enough that you could feel his warm breath against your skin. Far enough away that you couldn’t kiss him.

“Still think that size doesn’t matter?” Sam’s voice was a low rumble that vibrated through your chest, his hazel eyes dark with desire. There was a playful challenge in his expression. The corner of mouth quirked up in a crooked half-grin that always made your heart stutter. You didn’t get to see this side of him nearly enough. The playful, carefree side of him that didn’t see the light of day often enough.

You tried to buck upwards, testing his grip, but unsurprisingly, he held you in place effortlessly. His free hand went to your hip and he pressed you into the mattress, his long fingers splaying across your skin. The thought that he could hold you down and take whatever he damn well pleased from you was plenty to send a spike of arousal through your system. A shiver ran down your spine as heat pooled between your legs.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied, breathless. “I’m pretty sure my exact words were, ‘I’m not intimidated by it.’”

“Well that much is clear,” he said, eyes sweeping down your naked form with undisguised desire. “But maybe you should be.” His lips crashed down against yours, swallowing your gasp as his thumb rubbed against the jut of your hip. The kiss was hungry. Demanding. Domineering in all the ways Sam rarely let himself indulge in.

His tongue slid against yours, and he gently sucked your lip between his teeth, nipping softly. And when he pulled back, you chased his mouth instinctively, earning one of his devastating chuckles you knew you’d never get tired of hearing.

“Sam,” you whined softly, struggling against his hold but barely fighting.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he murmured, his free hand trailing up your side and fingertips tracing along one of your ribs. “I love when you get like this.” You bit your lip, trying – and likely failing – to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to beg.”

“I don’t beg,” you protested weakly, even as your body arched towards his touch.

“No?” His voice dropped dangerously low as his lips ghosted along your jawline, trailing to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Then what would you call it when you’re writhing beneath me? Saying my name over and over again?” Your breath caught in your throat as his teeth grazed against your earlobe, sending sparks of desire cascading through you. He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly how to dismantle every single defense you had until all that was left was raw need.

“That’s different,” you managed, but your voice lacked conviction. Sam laughed softly against your skin.

“We’ll see.” His hand continued its torturous path upward, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast but deliberately avoiding the places you wanted him most. Each touch was light enough to make you shiver but deliberate enough to set you ablaze. He smiled against your neck when you squirmed.

“You’re teasing,” you accused.

“I’m savoring,” he corrected, his hand finally cupping your breast. His thumb circled your nipple, and you bit back a moan. “Every. Inch.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze that set every nerve in you alight. And when his mouth replaced his hand, hot and wet around your nipple, there was no stopping the sound that escaped you.

Your wrists strained against his grip, desperate to touch him. To thread your fingers through his hair. To pull him closer. Anything to get more of him.

“Sam, please,” you whimpered. And there it was. The beginning of what he was looking for.

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, his eyes locked on yours.

“You,” you breathed. “I want you.”

“Hmm… that’s not very specific.” His grip on your wrists tightened as he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. The hard length of him pressed against your inner thigh. So close to where you ached for him. “Try again, pretty girl.”

You nearly groaned in frustration, your pride and desire warring within you. On one hand, it would be so easy to just give in. Beg so prettily that Sam would have no choice but to give you what you wanted. But on the other… you knew the things Sam could do to you if you pushed.

“I want your mouth on me,” you finally said, cheeks warming with your words. “Everywhere. Please.” His eyes darkened, pupils dilated until there was next to no hazel remaining in them.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

He released your wrists, but before you could reach for him, he slid down your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses across your stomach. His large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them.

“Sam,” you gasped, moving to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Ah-ah. Keep your hands above your head.” You hesitated, the reflexive urge to disobey flickering through your system. But something in Sam’s expression – the intensity or maybe the hunger – made you slowly raise your arms back to where they were. He hummed contentedly. “Mm, good girl.”

The praise sent a thrill through you, and you preened at his approval. His breath was hot against your inner thigh as he pressed his lips there, working his way higher at an agonizingly slow pace. He nipped at your thigh before sucking a bruise there, leaving a mark that would remain a shared secret between the two of you. He soothed it with his tongue, glancing up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you replied just a little too quickly. “Please, Sam, I need–ah!”

He pressed his tongue flat against you, licking a broad stripe up your center as he held you spread open for him. Pleasure ricocheted through you, and your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure. More of Sam. His fingers dug into you, grounding you, holding you in place. At his mercy. You fought to keep your hands above your head, fingers twisting in the pillowcase as his tongue circled your clit before flicking against it with expert precision.

“Fuck… Sam…” you moaned, pressing your head against the pillow.

“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice adding to the fire in you. “This all for me, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you gasped, one hand holding your other wrist solely to have something to hold onto. “Only you.”

“Only me,” he echoed, his voice rough with desire. His tongue delved deeper, exploring you with deliberate, measured strokes while his fingers pressed crescents into your thighs. And when he slid one of those long, talented fingers inside you and curled it in just the way that made your toes curl, you nearly came undone right then and there.

“Sam, I–” Words failed you as he pressed a second finger in, gently stretching you open while his mouth drove you towards the edge.

“Say it again,” he demanded, pausing just long enough to make you whimper at the loss of his mouth on you. “Tell me who makes you feel this way.”

“You do, Sam,” you panted, your need far outweighing your pride. “Just you. Only you. Please– please– I need–”

He pressed his mouth against you again, and his responding groan vibrated against you as his fingers pulsed against that sensitive spot in you. Your jaw went slack as you lost yourself in the mounting pressure, the coil winding tighter and tighter. Right there– right there–

He pulled away.

Before you could protest, he moved back up your body, capturing your mouth in a kiss that tasted of you. He ground the heel of his hand against your clit.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and you weren’t sure when your eyes had closed. They fluttered open to meet his, and the raw hunger in his gaze made you feel like a lamb in a lion’s den. “Beg for it.”

Gone was your pride and ego.

“Please,” you whispered, the word catching in your throat. “Please, Sam. I need it. I need you.” His responding grin was predatory, and all you wanted was for him to devour you.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmured. His fingers curled more insistently inside you as his thumb drew tight circles around your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Eyes on me, pretty girl.”

The tension that had been building steadily in you snapped, and pleasure crashed through you in waves. Your body clenched around his fingers as his name spilled from your lips, your back arching off the bed and up into him. True to his demand, though, you kept your eyes locked on his, letting him witness every precious moment of your undoing.

He worked you through it, fingers slowing but not quite stopping entirely so he drew out your pleasure until you were trembling and oversensitive. Only when your body sagged against the mattress did he withdraw his fingers and press a soft kiss to your lips as you struggled to catch your breath.

“You’re beautiful when you let go like that,” he mumbled against your mouth. “When you stop fighting me.”

Your arms finally dropped from above your head, and you wrapped them around his shoulders and pulled him closer. His cock slid against your still-sensitive center, making you gasp at the friction. He was hot and hard against you, the evidence of his desire impossible to ignore.

“Maybe I like fighting you,” you teased, trailing your fingertips along his spine. “Maybe I like making you work for it.”

“Oh, I know you do,” he replied, nipping at your lip. “But we both know who wins in the end.”

“Do we, though?” you asked, a smirk playing on your lips as you looked up at him.

Sam arched an eyebrow at you, the challenge accepted in the subtle shift of his expression. His hand closed around your jaw, not painful but firm enough to tilt your head back and expose your throat to him.

“I think I just proved it, didn’t I?” his voice dropped low again as he pressed a kiss to your pulse point.

“Mmm, I might need a bit more convincing.”

He chuckled, low and dark, as his hands slide under your thighs, adjusting you beneath him. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“Well, if it’s convincing you want…” he pressed into you slowly, making sure you felt every inch of him as he filled you. Stretched you. Claimed you inch by delicious inch. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he seated himself fully in you. Size might not have mattered, but fuck if it wasn’t a goddamn bonus.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stealing the word straight from your thoughts. His forehead dropped to rest against yours. “You feel so good around me. So perfect.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. He groaned, and you loved the way his eyes squeezed shut. You could see the way he fought with himself – the battle written in the tension of his jaw and the trembling of his arms on either side of you. The fight between restraint and desire.

“Move,” you whispered, rolling your hips against his, and you watched as his eyes fluttered, pupils blown wide. “Sam, please.”

“Patience,” he grunted, but his voice cracked on the word. His hips withdrew slowly – torturously slow – before driving back into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders as he settled into a deliberate and commanding rhythm.

One hand gripped your hip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh there. His other pressed into the pillow beside your head, caging you between him and the mattress. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge as his cock dragged against your walls.

“This what you need, pretty girl?” he asked, voice strained with the effort of his control.

“Harder,” you demanded, digging your heels into his lower back. “You won’t break me.”

Sam’s fingers at your hip dug in hard enough that you were sure they were going to leave marks in their wake. When your eyes found his, something primal and possessive flashed in them, and you inadvertently clenched around him.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

“Green,” you managed before he could prompt, but the word fractured as he shifted and angled his hips so he could drive deeper into you on the next thrust. You whimpered. “God, yes, please, Sam.”

His mouth found yours, swallowing your moans as he fucked into you, his previously controlled rhythm giving way to something more desperate. Your fingers threaded through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and yanking hard. His rhythm faltered, and something between a groan and a growl rumbled in his throat.

“That’s it,” he panted against you, his breath hot and damp. “You can take me. Such a good girl.”

Your body responded to his praise like it was physical touch, pleasure building in you again impossibly fast. His words. The pace of his hips. The way he filled you so completely, so perfectly. You couldn’t have imagined anything more perfect than this exact moment.

“Sam,” you gasped, your voice sounded wrecked in your own ears. “I’m close–”

“I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek. “I can feel you.” His hand slid from your hip to between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. “Come for me, pretty girl. Let me feel you.”

The pressure of his thumb combined with the drag of his cock was too much, and your body arched as your second orgasm crashed over you. You cried out his name as you clenched around him. Sam groaned against your neck, his hips faltering in their rhythm as he buried himself deep inside you one final time. You could feel him pulse within you as he came, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you caught in the aftershocks of pleasure. You ran your fingers along his back, nails gently tracing lazy patterns across his sweat-slick back. He was heavy on top of you, but the weight of him was grounding and comforting in a way that made you feel safe. Protected. Cherished. He practically purred above you as your fingers carded through his hair and scratched at his scalp.

“You okay?” he asked, finally pushing himself up onto his forearms to look down at you. Gone was the demanding hunger. It had been replaced with something soft and reverent. The usual side of Sam you fell in love with more and more with each passing day. He carefully pulled out of you and rolled to your side, pulling you close and refusing to give up that physical touch just yet. You turned and let your head settle against his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull you into contentedness.

“More than okay. That was… wow.”

“Wow, huh?” His lips quirked upwards. “So is that you admitting that I was right about the size thing?” You playfully smacked his arm.

“Absolutely not. Your ego is big enough already.”

“Among other things,” he quipped. You rolled your eyes, though it was in a fond way rather than annoyed.

“You’re insufferable,” you sighed dramatically, but you smiled regardless. Your hand slid down his torso, fingertips tracing along his abs. “Though… I suppose I can’t argue with the evidence.”

Sam caught your wandering hand just as it dipped below his navel.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he warned. “Unless you’re looking for another round.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze, mischief twinkling in your eyes.

“Maybe I am.”

---

Also, I owe a shout out to @losers-clvb for helping me get out of my head with some of the dialogue. All my love to you 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Sam taglist: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @theamuz @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog @losers-clvb @zyra-7

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

#sammybb2025 #spn #supernatural #sam winchester smut #sam smut #sam winchester x reader #supernatural smut #No use of Y/N #no beta we die like men #supernatural x reader #reader insert #X reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic series #pwp #pwp fics #one shot #jared padalecki

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spnbaby-67 · 4 months ago

Text

In His Eyes

Author's Notes:

Just a little something something I wrote last night when i couldn't sleep. My Neuropathy and sciatica was killing me and I was watching the Radio Company concert again in Austin and came up with this crazy idea after I saw this photo that i'll post below. Not mine and I don't take credit for it, so thank you for whoever took it,.. It had me thinking things i probably shouldnt but what the heck.. Its for pure entertainment anyways,. and Jensen is single, mostly in all my fanfics he will be single unless noted. Please don't take and copy and paste to other sites and say its yours. Im trying my best to get back into writing. and if you ever want to be tagged please let me know.

Warnings: Semi-Sexual content, NSFW (sort of), Jensen being sexy as hell, and I take full responsibility for edits as i dont have a beta.

Pairing: Jensen and Reader,

The lights dimmed as the first notes of Everything I Do (I Do It for You) filled the air, wrapping around the room like a slow-burning fire. The crowd swayed, lost in the moment, but I barely noticed them.

Because Jensen was staring at me.

Not just looking—staring.

That deep, unreadable gaze locked onto mine as he stood on the edge of the stage, microphone in one hand, the other resting on his belt. His lips parted slightly, a smirk playing at the corners like he knew something I didn’t.

The air between us thickened, my pulse racing as if he’d reached across the distance and traced his fingers down my spine.

I swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of the way my dress clung to my body, the way my breath caught in my throat. His eyes darkened as if he could hear it, as if he could feel the

pounding of my heart from where he stood.

Jensen took a slow step forward, his boots heavy on the stage, his voice rough with something deeper than just the song as he sang:

"Look into my eyes… you will see… what you mean to me…"

God help me, I did. I looked into his eyes, and I was trapped. There was something smoldering there, something just for me. My knees felt weak as the world blurred around us, leaving only him, only this moment.

His gaze flickered downward, dragging over me like a touch, igniting something low in my belly. My fingers curled into fists against my lap, struggling to keep from reaching for him, from letting him see just how much he was undoing me.

Then, with the slow confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Jensen knelt at the very edge of the stage, his free hand resting on his knee. Close. Too close.

"You know it’s true… everything I do… I do it for you…"

His voice was velvet and fire, rough and smooth in all the ways that made my skin prickle. My breath shuddered out, and his smirk deepened.

Damn him.

The next words left his lips softer, slower, like a promise meant just for me.

"There’s no love… like your love…"

The intensity of his stare sent heat rushing to my cheeks. He tilted his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and I felt the breath hitch in my throat.

Was he really doing this? Was this for me?

Jensen leaned in just enough to make my pulse thunder, his voice a husky whisper against the microphone as he sang the last words of the chorus.

My whole body burned. The space between us wasn’t enough.

And then, as if he knew—knew exactly what I was thinking, what I wanted—he let the smirk fade, his expression softening, eyes flickering with something almost… dangerous.

The song drifted into its final chords, the crowd still lost in the music, but I felt like I was drowning in something else entirely.

Jensen didn’t move, didn’t look away, and I swore I saw a silent dare in his eyes.

Come closer.

God, I wanted to.

But before I could, before I even had the chance to process the fire he’d just set in my veins, he stood, giving me one last lingering look before turning back toward the stage.

Leaving me breathless.

Leaving me ruined.

As Jensen turned back to the stage, the crowd roared, but the noise barely registered over the pounding in my chest. My body still buzzed from the intensity of his stare, the silent promise lingering in the air between us.

I exhaled shakily, my fingers gripping the edge of my seat as he finished the song, his voice still thick with something deeper than performance. He knew what he’d done. He knew exactly how he’d left me—wanting, aching, caught in the spell of his voice and those damn eyes.

The final note rang out, and the lights shifted, bathing the stage in a softer glow. The band kicked into the next song, but Jensen didn’t join in right away. Instead, he turned, gaze sweeping the audience before locking onto me again.

And then—just barely—he nodded.

A silent message. A command.

Meet me.

I swallowed hard, my body already moving before my brain could catch up. My legs were unsteady as I pushed through the crowd, heart hammering with every step.

Backstage security barely gave me a second glance as I slipped past, my breath shallow, anticipation curling in my stomach. The corridors were dimly lit, the muffled sound of the concert fading behind me.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Jensen leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that same smoldering gaze. The heat in his eyes made my pulse jump, but I forced myself to keep walking until there was barely any space between us.

“You,” he murmured, voice rough, teasing.

“Me,” I whispered back, my breath uneven.

He reached up, brushing a thumb along my jaw, his touch barely there, but it sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“You keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he mused, tilting his head, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped me. “What if I do?”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze darkening, and before I could say another word, he closed the distance.

His hand slid to my waist, fingers pressing just enough to pull me closer, his breath warm against my lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured, and then—

His lips brushed mine.

Soft at first, like he was waiting for me to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Instead, I melted into him, hands finding their way to his chest as his grip tightened, deepening the kiss. He tasted like whiskey and something undeniably Jensen, something intoxicating, something I knew I’d never get enough of.

The world outside this moment didn’t exist. There was only the heat of his body, the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin, the way he groaned low in his throat when I pressed just a little closer.

And damn, if that sound didn’t make me want to beg for more.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven.

“Tell me you’re not leaving yet,” he murmured.

I smiled, fingers curling into his shirt.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jensen grinned, slow and wicked, and in that moment, I knew—this night was only getting started.

He took my hand, intertwining our fingers, warmth radiating from his touch as he led me further down the hall toward his dressing room. My heart raced, anticipation humming in my veins with every step we took. The muffled cheers from the concert faded further, leaving only the quiet rustle of fabric, the soft breathing between us, and the thunderous beat of my heart.

Inside, Jensen gently shut the door behind us, clicking the lock into place before turning to face me again. The air felt electric, charged with promise and unspoken desires.

He slowly stepped closer, eyes heavy-lidded and intense. “Do you have any idea,” he began softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, “how long I've wanted to do that?”

I shivered at the huskiness of his voice, my breath hitching. “Probably not as long as I have.”

Jensen laughed low, his gaze darkening again. He gently traced a fingertip along my collarbone, leaving heat in its wake. “You have no idea.”

My knees weakened, and he noticed immediately, placing a steadying hand against my waist. He tilted my chin upward with gentle fingers, leaning in to whisper close to my ear, “Every song tonight, every note—I sang for you. I wanted you to feel it.”

“Oh, trust me,” I breathed, hands settling against his chest. “I felt everything.”

He growled softly, the sound vibrating between us, and kissed me again, deeper this time. It was slow and lingering, full of intention and burning need. His lips trailed from mine, down my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my throat. My head tipped back, offering him more, surrendering completely to his touch.

“You drive me insane,” Jensen murmured roughly against my neck. “Every glance, every smile… every time you’re close to me.”

“Then don’t hold back,” I whispered, tangling my fingers in his hair. “Show me exactly how I make you feel.”

With a low groan, Jensen lifted me effortlessly, guiding me backward until I rested against the edge of the makeup counter. His hands found the curve of my waist, fingers exploring slowly, teasing beneath the hem of my shirt. My pulse quickened, heat flooding my skin, as his lips reclaimed mine, hungry and urgent.

“I intend to,” he promised breathlessly, sliding his palms over my hips, pulling me impossibly closer. “All night.”

His mouth returned to mine, igniting sparks that melted away everything but us—this moment, this passion, this undeniable, breathtaking chemistry. The entire evening had been a buildup to this—his eyes finding me in the crowd, his voice caressing me through every lyric, and now, finally, his touch setting my body on fire.

In that instant, as Jensen’s kiss grew deeper and more intense, I realized one thing with absolute certainty:

Tonight would be unforgettable—and neither of us planned on letting go.

His fingers curled beneath the edge of my shirt, teasing against bare skin, drawing shivers that left me aching for more. With deliberate slowness, Jensen lifted the fabric, exposing my stomach inch by torturous inch, his mouth following the path his hands created. Soft, lingering kisses scorched my skin, leaving me breathless, dizzy, desperate for more.

When he reached the sensitive spot just above my hip, he paused, glancing up at me through hooded eyes, his expression both playful and predatory.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured huskily. "It’s been killing me, not being able to touch you like this."

I tangled my fingers through his hair, urging him upward. “Then don’t stop.”

He smiled against my skin before rising slowly, sliding my shirt up and over my head, letting it drop forgotten to the floor. His eyes darkened as he drank me in, his thumb tracing the delicate lace along the edge of my bra.

"God," he breathed, stepping closer until there was nothing between us but heat. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He kissed me fiercely again, hands gliding smoothly across my back, unhooking the clasp and gently slipping the straps down my shoulders. Cool air hit my bare skin, quickly replaced by Jensen’s warm palms, cupping me reverently, his thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks until I gasped into his mouth.

My own hands trembled slightly as I tugged at the hem of his shirt, needing more, needing him just as exposed as I was. Jensen stepped back just enough to let me remove it, revealing toned muscle that shifted beneath my fingertips as I explored his chest. His breath shuddered as I traced the lines of his body, feeling his heartbeat beneath my touch.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion and desire. "Tell me you want this as much as I do."

I lifted my eyes to meet his, the intensity nearly overwhelming. "I’ve never wanted anything more."

He captured my lips again, hungry and demanding, his hands roaming freely now, guiding me back toward the sofa at the far end of the dressing room. We sank down together, limbs tangled, skin against skin, mouths locked in a passionate rhythm that stole away every thought but him.

Jensen’s kisses grew deeper, each touch more intimate, drawing quiet moans from my lips that only seemed to encourage him. His hand slowly traveled down my thigh, gripping softly, pulling my leg around his waist as he pressed himself against me, letting me feel just how deeply he was affected.

“Feel that?” he asked hoarsely, brushing his lips gently against my earlobe, sending a thrill racing through me. “That’s all you, sweetheart. You make me lose my mind.”

My heart thundered wildly in my chest as I guided his face back to mine, breathing shakily, whispering back against his lips, “Then lose yourself with me.”

He groaned, eyes blazing as he kissed me again—harder, deeper, fully surrendering to the seductive pull between us. The night stretched ahead, filled with promises whispered between kisses, heated caresses, and the slow, tantalizing exploration of two souls who’d waited far too long.

And as Jensen’s hands finally claimed me fully, pulling me under waves of pleasure I’d never imagined, I knew that tonight, in his arms, I would truly find myself lost in him—completely, utterly, and beautifully undone.

Jensen’s fingers traced maddening patterns along my skin, drawing me deeper into the sweet chaos of his touch. Each kiss was a silent vow, each sigh a confession we’d both been waiting far too long to share.

His breath mingled with mine, heavy with need as he whispered against my lips, “You’re mine tonight, Y/N.”

“Always,” I breathed back, arching into his embrace, drowning in sensation as he claimed me completely.

Just as I was about to surrender to bliss, reality seemed to ripple around me. The heated whispers, Jensen’s lips brushing my skin—it all started to blur, fading like smoke through my fingertips…

And suddenly, the roar of applause filled my ears, jerking me awake with a startled gasp.

Blinking rapidly, I realized I was back in my seat, surrounded by cheering fans and bright stage lights. My heart raced wildly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It had felt so real…

Oh, God. I’d imagined all of it.

My skin still tingled, heart still racing as I shook myself free of the vivid daydream. I forced myself to focus back on Jensen, standing confidently on stage. But when my eyes found his, embarrassment hit me hard—because he was already looking right at me, a curious smirk playing across his lips.

Heat surged through my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze immediately, mortified at being caught in such a moment. But then I felt it—that magnetic pull—and forced myself to look up again.

Jensen’s eyes hadn’t left mine. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, a playful glint now shining in those green eyes. Then, to my shock, he stepped to the edge of the stage again, his stare fixed solely on me as he leaned forward, mic in hand.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” he teased gently, the amusement in his voice unmistakable. A ripple of laughter passed through the audience as I felt myself blush harder, my heart hammering.

I nodded shyly, biting back a nervous smile.

“Good,” he grinned warmly, his gaze softening, voice dropping low enough that only I could truly catch the next words. “Because you looked like you were having one hell of a dream.”

The audience erupted into laughter and whistles, but Jensen’s eyes held mine steadily, full of playful curiosity and the spark of a very real challenge.

Maybe tonight wasn’t just a dream after all.

**want to be tagged in future writings let me know I do have a western coming up as well. **

@deans-baby-momma

#jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #reader insert #jensen ackles fanfiction #jared padalecki #reader fanfiction

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castielscaplan · 29 days ago

Text

Just One of Those Days (Sam Winchester)

Summary: Everything that could go wrong did go wrong today. But coming home to Sam always makes it better.

Warnings: fluff

WC: 713

Read on ao3!

A/N: rewritten from this piece featuring Luke Cage x Reader

You were annoyed. You were stressed. Nothing had gone your way from the moment you opened your eyes.

You woke up to find Sam already gone. No warm chest to curl into. No sleepy “good morning” murmured against your skin. Just a cool pillow and a folded note sitting on your bedside table in his handwriting:

Early call. Be back later. I love you—call if you need anything. —S

Sweet. Of course. That was so Sam. Always trying to soften the blow.

But then you stepped out into the hallway… and your sock squelched in a puddle of dog pee.

Your eyes widened. You stared down at your now-damp foot. You didn’t even have the energy to be mad—just a breathless, whispered, “Awesome,” as you peeled the sock off and tossed it into the laundry.

Then, the toaster refused to work. Circuit shortage. You fiddled with it until the breaker tripped and the kitchen lights blinked out. Burnt toast smell still lingered in the air even though nothing actually toasted. Not even breakfast could cooperate with you today.

You finally got in a lukewarm shower without incident—one victory, at least.

But then you remembered you were almost out of gas, and there was no way you’d make it to work without a miracle. Public transport it was.

The bus reeked. Some guy nearly fell in your lap when the driver made a sudden stop. Your nerves were shot before you even got to the office.

When you arrived, your boss was already demanding yesterday’s print run be redone—something about typos and misaligned columns in the newspaper. Not your fault, but your problem.

You skipped lunch.

Nearly got into it with a coworker about the new article layout—you weren’t even on the layout team.

Sam never called on his break. He’d promised he would, but with how busy things were lately—especially with that vampire nest they were tracking—you weren’t exactly surprised. Still, you missed his voice.

Then the printer exploded with ink. On you.

You stared down at your once-white shirt in horror, now stained with black splotches, and whispered to no one, “I think the Devil is personally targeting me.”

By some mercy, your boss let you go home early.

But then the bus was late. Of course it was. You stood in the wind, shirt stained, phone dead, stomach growling.

When the bus finally came, you pulled out your phone to message Sam, only to realize the ink explosion had somehow gotten into the speaker and fried it.

And then you tripped getting off the bus. Flat on your face. Scraped knees. Bruised pride.

You limped the last few blocks home.

Once inside, you didn’t even shower. You peeled off your ruined clothes, threw on one of Sam’s giant flannel shirts, made some tea, and collapsed onto the couch. Netflix playing. Phone charging on the kitchen counter. Soul utterly crushed.

You didn’t move.

Not until you heard the familiar sound of the garage door and the unmistakable thud thud thud of heavy boots crossing the floor.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice rang out, low and laced with concern.

You swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm tea. “In here.”

When he walked into the living room, his eyes instantly scanned over your form—messy hair, tired eyes, legs curled under you on the couch. His brow furrowed.

“Bad day, huh?” he asked softly, already toeing off his boots. “You look like you could use a serious cuddle.”

You nodded miserably, bottom lip jutting out just slightly. “Please?” you mumbled, holding your arms out with a pathetic little grabby motion.

Sam’s face melted into a tender smile. “C’mere.”

He crossed the room in two strides, sank down beside you, and instantly pulled you into his arms. His body was warm and strong, his embrace everything you needed. He didn’t say much—he didn’t need to.

He just held you. Kissed your temple. Rubbed soothing circles into your back.

You burrowed closer, nose tucked under his jaw.

“Wanna talk about it?” he murmured after a few minutes.

“No. Just… hold me.”

“You got it,” he whispered.

And just like that, the worst day ever started to feel a little less heavy.

Because Sam Winchester? He always made everything feel better.

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supercap2319 · 2 years ago

Text

"Tell me, Y/N. You and Sammy have that vanilla-y, girly shit kind of relationship don't you?" Dean gave him an inquisitive look through sips of his beer. It was just the two of them in the bunker alone.

Sam and Cas were on a food run, so it was just Dean, and Sam's Charmed One witch boyfriend sitting at the table together. Y/N was researching up a spell that used henbane, wolfsbane, and gypsy's blood on Sam's laptop.

"What do you mean by 'vanilla-y?'"

"Holding hands. Cuddles in bed. Sammy crying his way through sex. That kind of shit." Dean smiled.

"Well, he and I do hold hands, but he likes to play rough in bed. Likes to tie me to his bed, and edge me for hours till I'm begging him to let me cum. There was also the time he tied to the hood of the Impala, and he fucked me with his big moose cock until he scratched the paint job." Y/N smiles.

"Son of a bitch! You did what on my baby?"

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #sam winchester #Sam Winchester x male reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #jared padalecki #Jared Padalecki x male reader

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lucidlivi · 2 years ago

Text

I Can See You (II)

Series Masterlist/Warnings

Tag List: @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @perpetualabsurdity @antisocialcorrupt @heavenlyackles @anixiiee @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @deans-spinster-witch @k-slla @alternativeprincess @spnbaby-67 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @ladysparkles78 @rach5ive @deansapplepie @lauraashley93 @hzllxhoundxx @kmc1989 @creative-writing92 (if you would like added please comment on this post or send an ask with the story name so I can keep my story tag lists straight!)

"well I can see you."

What did that even mean?

Was he trying to flirt with me?

Surely not!

Although all of me wished that was the case, it couldn't be.

Could it?

I spent the rest of the night, well in to the next morning thinking about his words. I heard a light knocking on my door breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. Jared opens the door, crashing on my bed. I take my hand running it through his shaggy hair, it was something that always calmed him.

"what's up?" I asked him as he sighed.

"just tired, and a little nervous to start filming today." He admitted.

"don't be nervous, you'll be great, you always are." I smiled.

"I'm kind of glad you're coming with."

"kind of?" I scoffed in mock hurt.

"you know what I mean you brat." Jared said shoving my hand away from his hair.

"if anyone is a brat here it's you moose." I teased.

"just shut up and get dressed, we have to leave in a hour."

"you cut me deep moose." I joked.

Jared rolled his eyes before standing up and walking towards the door.

"uh one more thing, just uh stick with me and Jensen today, don't go wandering off like you do." Jared said, referring to my disappearing act last night at the party.

Jensen.

At the mention of his name, the events from last night, his words, it all came flooding back. I bit my lip, once again starting my spiral of overthinking.

"did you hear me?" Jared asked.

I rolled my eyes at him. He could be really annoyingly overprotective sometimes. I reluctantly shook my head in agreement.

"now get out of here!" I groaned throwing a pillow at him.

Jared dodged it easily, laughing before departing from my room.

I quickly got up throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt that read I ❤️Dean Winchester. I got it simply because I knew it would make Jared mad, and as his little sister I had a duty to annoy him as much as possible.

I ran a hand through my hair before descending down the stairs. Jared and Jensen sat in the kitchen, hunched over bowls of cereal. Jared was the first one to look up.

"what are you wearing?" He asked rolling his eyes, causing Jensen to look up too.

I could see the grin spread to Jensen's face.

"I for one love it." He smirked.

Jared rolled his eyes again.

"I can't wear your merch, that'd be weird, besides everyone knows Dean is the superior Winchester." I laughed grabbing the cereal box and dumping some in to my open mouth.

"she's got a point." Jensen said grabbing the cereal box from my hands to pour me a bowl.

"I hate you both." Jared grumbled, getting up to put his bowl in the sink.

I could feel an awkward tension settle between me and Jensen as Jared left the room. It was the first time where I had no clue what to say to him. It seemed like he was struggling with the same thing.

"about last night.." Jensen started but I cut him off.

"what about it?"

"I uh probably shouldn't have said that.." He said rubbing his neck nervously.

Ouch.

It was silly of me to think he meant anything by it.

"oh, okay." I whispered, trying my best to hide the disappointment in my voice.

Jensen breathed a sigh, standing up and walking over to the sink to deposit his bowl. He turns around quickly glancing at me.

"I meant it, I just probably shouldn't have said it."

I was dumbfounded as I watched him leave the kitchen.

I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. I couldn't stop the smile that spread to my face.

Holy Shit.

It was definitely him being flirty.

Why else would he say he shouldn't have said it?

He didn't want Jared to know he was flirting with his little sister.

Okay, maybe I was getting a little too ahead of myself.

I scarfed down the rest of my cereal quickly joining the boys in the car. I kept sneaking glances at Jensen but he never returned them. It was like when other people were around, I was just Jared's annoying little sister, but when we were alone he was different.

I was feeling excited when we got to set. Jared and Jensen immediately went to wardrobe and makeup, dragging me along. I didn't realize just how much went into getting ready for shooting. As soon as they were ready they were whisked away to start filming. I stayed close, just like I had promised. I didn't mind though, it was cool to see Jensen and Jared take on a different persona and become Sam and Dean Winchester.

I giggled as Jensen broke character, yelling at Jared for messing up his lines.

"be nice to him!" I yelled from the sidelines.

Jared gave me a look as if telling me to shut up. I smirked before standing up and stretching my muscles. It felt like we've been here for hours already. I know I promised to stick close, but I really needed to find a bathroom.

I slipped away quietly, walking around the massive studio. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out, bringing it to life. It was a text from mom asking how Jared was doing. I rolled my eyes typing back a reply. It seems it didn't matter how I was doing, like usual.

I was too busy looking at my phone that I didn't see the body in front of me until I was crashing in to it.

"shit, are you okay?"

I looked up to see a really handsome guy, he looked to be around the same age as me.

"uh yeah, that was totally my fault." I said taking his extended hand so he could help me to my feet.

"are you uh a Jensen fan?" He asked pointing to my shirt with a laugh.

"I'm uh, Jared, uh Sam's sister, I got it mainly to make him mad." I said awkwardly.

I wasn't the kind of girl who was experienced with talking to guys, especially handsome ones.

"Well Jared Sam's sister it's nice to meet you I'm Jeremiah, I'm an extra for the first two episodes." He teased.

"It's nice to meet you too extra Jeremiah." I teased back surprising myself.

He laughed, making me blush.

"It's uh (y/n)." I said with a smile.

"(y/n), nice name for a nice personality." Jeremiah said making me blush even harder.

I wasn't use to men complimenting me.

"thank you." I replied shyly.

"well uh, I should get going, I'm supposed to be in the makeup trailer." He smiled offering me a small wave.

"Jeremiah." I called causing him to turn around.

"could you uh, maybe point me towards a bathroom?" I asked with a laugh.

"I'll do you one better, follow me."

I started to walk next to Jeremiah, taking a moment to get a good look at him. He had the prettiest blue eyes, a vast contrast from Jensen's green ones. He was naturally tan, with muscles protruding from his shirt.

"I get it, it can get a little crazy on set, hard to find things." Jeremiah spoke, breaking the silence.

"yeah I don't know how you guys do it." I admitted looking at where we were.

I was indeed going the complete opposite direction of the bathroom.

"yeah and I'm just an extra." He said sounding a little bummed.

I grabbed his hand giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Jeremiah don't worry you'll get your big break soon enough, Jared thought he was going to be working odd jobs forever and now look at him." I comforted.

"you're really cool, you know that?" Jeremiah said turning towards me with a smile.

I felt the blush spreading to my cheeks once again.

"you're really cool too." I smiled.

"uh here we are." Jeremiah says gesturing to a door.

"thanks." I said offering him another genuine smile.

"see you around Jared Sam's sister." He said with a wink.

"see you around extra Jeremiah."

I couldn't fight the smile on my face. It was nice to be noticed by someone. I quickly used the restroom, before skipping happily back to set where the boys stood.

"what's got you so smiley?" Jensen asked as he took a seat beside me.

"oh nothing." I said trying to shrug it off.

"no come on, just tell me." Jensen said bumping me with his elbow.

I took a deep breath. I could tell Jensen wasn't going to give it up.

"Jeremiah, he's uh one of the extras on set, he's nice." I shrugged as if it weren't a big deal.

I thought for a second I saw a flash of disappointment on Jensen's face.

"nice is he?" Jensen asked leaning back in the chair.

"yes, he was nice." I said bumping him with my elbow.

"just be careful, nice guys are the ones you have to watch out for." Jensen said.

"are you giving me relationship advice?" I asked with a giggle.

"just want you to be careful baby moose."

I rolled my eyes at his nickname.

"can you please stop calling me that, I just want to be called by my actual name." I grumbled making Jensen smirk.

Jensen stood up, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"nah, you'll always be my baby moose."

I couldn't fight the blush that spread to my cheeks as I watched him walk back to set, ready to film the next scene.

my baby moose.

Holy Shit.

I settled back in the chair trying to calm my breathing as I watched the next scene. I saw Jeremiah walk on to screen, reciting his lines. He caught my eye offering me a smile. I offered him one back, catching Jensen's attention.

"and that's a wrap." I heard the director yell off screen.

I stood up ready to greet Jared. I was surprised to see Jeremiah walking over to me.

"Hi." He said with a grin.

"Hi Jeremiah, you were great out there." I said offering him a smile.

"Thanks, I uh came over to see if maybe you wanted to go get coffee with me?" Jeremiah asked with a hopeful smile on his face.

Woah.

He was asking me on a date?

I glanced past him to see Jensen talking with a female coworker. He was laughing and putting a hand on her arm.

I realized that Jensen would never like me the way I liked him.

"I would love to go for coffee with you Jeremiah." I said loud enough so Jensen could hear.

"great, uh let me go change and then we can go." Jeremiah said before rushing off.

I smiled as I watched him leave.

"ready to go?" Jared asked returning from his trailer.

"actually she has a date tonight." Jensen said before I could.

I glared at him.

"a date? who with?" Jared questioned.

"Jeremiah, the extra." Jensen answered again scoffing as he said extra.

"so what if he's an extra, he's nice, and he likes me." I said, glaring directly at Jensen.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with being an extra." Jensen defended.

"yeah well you sure seem like you have a problem." I growled.

"Jared and I don't want you to get hurt is all." Jensen shot back.

"I think the both of you should just let me make my own decisions." I yelled.

Jensen was about to respond, but Jeremiah was walking over to us again.

"I uh know this great coffee shop, you ready to go?" He asked nervously looking at Jared and Jensen.

"I am, I'll see you both later." I said glaring at both boys, but mostly Jensen.

Who did he think he was?

He acts one way when we're around everyone else and another when we're in private. It was confusing and frustrating. It was like he was ashamed to be with me. I deserved to have someone who was happy to be around me, happy to be seen with me.

Jensen

I watched her walk away, slipping her hand in his.

I could feel the jealously burning in my chest.

I shouldn't be jealous, I know that.

I can't help it.

I thought I made it clear that I was interested, but I guess I hadn't made it clear enough.

"dude, what's up with you?" Jared asked looking at me.

"nothing, I just don't want baby moose to get taken advantage of by some guy we don't even know." I said trying to hide what I was actually feeling.

"I mean yeah but he seems harmless enough." Jared shrugs.

I think that was the problem.

He seemed like a good guy. A guy that could treat her how she deserved to be treated. A guy that Jared approved of.

"I guess so." I answered.

"I'm beat, you ready to go home?" Jared asked with a yawn.

"I'll catch you at home, there's some things I need to take care of first." I said offering him a smile.

"okay man, see you later." Jared said with a wave.

I was suddenly feeling the need for some coffee.

Reader

"oh my gosh no." Jeremiah said laughing at my embarrassing story.

I had been talking to Jeremiah for over an hour. He was super easy to talk to once I got over the nerves. He was actually really funny too. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

"I swear to you, spilled it all over the designer." I said laughing too.

"you certainly have a thing for great first impressions." Jeremiah winked.

"It's one of my many shining qualities." I joked.

"I mean you didn't have to hurt yourself to get my attention." Jeremiah flirts, placing a hand on my cheek.

I couldn't stop the blush that spread to my cheeks.

"you're cute when you blush." Jeremiah said gently stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I probably look like a mess." I said laughing.

"I don't think that's even possible." He whispered, closer to me now.

I could see his eyes shifting from mine, down to my lips.

I think he wants to kiss me.

I think I might want him too.

I gulped as he leaned in, fluttering his eyes closed.

"baby moose, so funny seeing you here."

I jumped at Jensen's loud voice pulling away from Jeremiah.

"Jeremiah right?" Jensen asks holding his hand out for Jeremiah to shake.

"yeah, hey." Jeremiah answers shaking his hand.

It was incredibly awkward as Jensen stood staring at Jeremiah.

"uh Jere, can you go get me a refill?" I asked handing him my empty coffee cup.

"sure, be right back." Jeremiah smiled, taking my cup and disappearing towards the front.

I turned towards Jensen glaring at him.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" I growled.

"oh you know just getting some coffee."

"you have no right, you need to go!"

"relax, I'm just grabbing some coffee." Jensen smirked.

"well grab your coffee and go, now."

"you don't have to be such a brat." Jensen scoffed before leaving.

Jeremiah came back shortly after with a now full cup of coffee.

"everything okay there?" He asked looking around for Jensen.

"yeah, sorry he just can be kind of an ass sometimes." I said furrowing my eyebrows.

I sat with Jeremiah for another hour, talking and laughing. He then offered to drive me home, which of course I accepted. He pulled in to the driveway, turning off the car.

"I uh, had a really nice time with you tonight." Jeremiah said.

"I had a good time too, thank you." I said offering him a smile.

"I guess this is goodnight then." Jeremiah said slowly, like he was dreading leaving.

"I mean shouldn't we say goodnight properly?" I asked turning towards him with a flirty smile.

Jeremiah smirked, getting what I was hinting at.

Jeremiah leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a gentle kiss. I put my hand on his cheek, kissing him deeper. He was really good at it. I slowly pulled away, allowing the blush to spread to my cheeks.

"goodnight Jeremiah." I said before exiting the car.

I couldn't fight the smile as I walked in to the house, going towards the kitchen.

"how was the rest of your hot date?" Jensen asked sitting at the kitchen island.

I felt my anger towards him return.

"excuse me?"

"relax (y/n) I was just having a bit of fun." Jensen said.

"you're an asshole you know that, okay, all I wanted was to go on a date with a guy I think is cute, and sweet and you had to show up and ruin it." I growled.

"and me showing up for like two seconds ruined that, really?"

"why couldn't you just let me have this one thing, just admit it you cared where I was, who I was with." I started but Jensen quickly cut me off.

"no I didn't, I don't." Jensen was quick to defend

"stop lying!"

"stop being such a baby!"

"oh and you're such an adult huh, you spent your night crashing my first date just for fun!" I yelled furious at him.

Jensen glared at me, taking a sip of his beer.

"you know what just forget it, why don't you go flirt with some more girls." I scoffed turning to walk away.

"yeah, well why don't you go kiss some more wannabe actors." Jensen growled.

I took a deep breath walking away from him.

I feel that if someone really wants you in their life, they’re gonna show it, not just talk about it, and if their actions don’t match up to their words, I lose interest fast.

Jensen was unbelievable.

If he wanted me, he would show it.

I used to know I wanted him, but now I'm not so sure.

Author Note:

I hope you enjoyed part two! If you could, please leave a heart, comment, reblog, or a follow it would be greatly appreciated! Stay tuned for more!

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